


Growing Pains

by DarkHeartInTheSky



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caretaker Dean Winchester, De-Aged Castiel (Supernatural), Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2018, M/M, Oblivious Sam Winchester, POV Sam Winchester, Post-Season/Series 11, Sam discovers destiel, mentions of bodily functions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-08 22:26:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16437998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkHeartInTheSky/pseuds/DarkHeartInTheSky
Summary: After a botched witch hunt, Cas ends up an infant; it's strange to see their once all-powerful, indestructible friend so small, so helpless.It's even stranger to see Dean look at Cas like that--like he's cradling the whole world in his arms.Sam's trying to track down the witch, or find a cure, to get Cas back. But it's kind of difficult with all these intruding thoughts that never go away; the kind that make him step back and question everything he thought he knew of Dean and Cas's relationship.





	Growing Pains

**Author's Note:**

> Another DCBB done! Go give me wonderful artist, [Ddff011](https://yayeeh1344.tumblr.com/) all the love for everything she's done! Isn't the art fantastic??? Drop her all the love she deserves!! 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [Art Post](https://yayeeh1344.tumblr.com/post/179545931862/art-masterpost-for-this-years-dcbb-indraw-for)

 

Sam looked up in the rearview mirror for the fifth time in just as many minutes. It was pitch black, the Impala’s headlights cutting through the darkness and the rumble of the engine disturbing the night silence.

Dean wasn’t looking up, all attention focused instead on the bundle in his arms, wrapped tightly in old flannel.

Sam swallowed and forced himself to look away and focus back on the road. There was a hard lump in his throat. He resisted the urge to press harder on the gas pedal, instead settling on going just under the speed limit. He risked the ire of the other drivers and ignored the honking horns and minivans that passed him angrily. He had to; he couldn’t speed, couldn’t bitch whip around turns, couldn’t ignore stop signs and red lights. Sam didn’t drive nearly as aggressively as Dean, but still, he drove more cautiously now than he ever had in his life.

“Dean,” Sam said eventually, awkwardly. He winced, hating the way his voice sounded. They’d been silent ever since they got into the car. “He okay?”

“Just dandy, Sam,” Dean said, but there was no bite behind it. He kept staring at the bundle in his arms, mesmerized in a way Sam had never seen his brother before. Almost like he was caught under a spell. “Keep driving.”

“Right.”

Every few minutes, Cas would make a soft noise--a gurgle, a sigh. The noises made the hair on the back of Sam’s neck rise. It was hard to associate those sounds with… Cas.

It was hard to associate that small, helpless bundle in Dean’s arms with Cas.

It was supposed to be a simple hunt. Taking out a witch that they suspected was robbing and killing men. They tracked her down pretty easily; she was young, naive, and clearly inexperienced. She left messes. They’d let her lure them into a false sense of security. They underestimated her. She had come and gone so fast, they hadn’t even seen her. One second Cas was on one side of the room, the next, he was gone, his clothes in a messy pile on the floor. Dean had screamed and raced towards the clothes--

And then the clothes moved and there was a sound. Dean got to his knees and pulled at the fabric. There was a shock of dark hair and familiar bright, blue eyes. Dean stared at those eyes for a long minute, then:

“Son of a bitch!”

The motel was still ten minutes away. Each minute seemed longer than the last. Sam had to give Dean some credit, at least; he didn’t seem to be freaking out nearly as much as Sam was. Once Dean had realized what happened, he collected himself, shed his outer layer, and wrapped Cas up like he might break. Dean slowly rose to his feet and pulled Cas close to his chest.

“Okay,” Dean had said, looking down at Cas, a strange itch in his voice. “Okay. Let’s uh. . . let’s get back to the motel.”

Sam could only mutely agree.

When they got to the car, Dean pulled the keys from his jean pockets and handed them to Sam. Then he slid in the backseat and buckled up, and held Cas to his chest and didn’t move. Sam had never seen Dean so willingly get into the backseat. Had never seen Dean put on his seatbelt of his own volition.

It was after one a.m. when they finally got back to the motel. Sam parked the Impala near the back of the lot, under a small series of trees for cover, away from the watchful eyes of other guests and security cameras

“Okay,” Sam said. He exhaled, then looked back into the rearview mirror. Dean still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “What do we do?”

“Start making calls?” Dean suggested. “But I don’t want Rowena or Crowley catching a whiff of this.”

“Yeah. Probably not a good idea.”

“Go back to tracking the witch. Make her undo the spell. She ain’t that bright.”

“She can’t have gone far,” Sam agreed. “We know what she looks like now.”

“Probably gonna put a glamor on or something.”

“It’ll be okay, Dean. We’ll figure it out.”

Dean grunted non-commitally.. Dean was out of the car before Sam, still holding Cas close to his chest. Dean looked up and around, probably at where the security cameras were.

“Can’t let anyone see us,” Dean said, practically tucking Cas inside his shirt. “We already look like the kinds of guys that would be fan favorites on America’s Most Wanted. How’s it gonna look if we start showing up with a baby when we definitely didn’t have one when we checked in?”

All Sam could think to say was, “We were on America’s Most Wanted. Number one, I’m pretty sure.”

“Awesome.” Dean walked to the motel door. He balanced Cas on one hip to dig into his pockets for the key. He moved with lack of effort that only came with practice. He pushed the door open with his foot. Sam followed behind just as Dean deposited Cas on the bed and turned on the lights.

“Okay,” Dean said, dusting off his hands. “First order of business: how much Cas is in there?”  
Dean and Sam both looked down at the baby on the bed, still wrapped in Dean’s shirt, which was swallowing him whole. The baby looked up at them with no recognition.

“Cas? Castiel, you in there?” Dean asked. “Blink if you understand me.”

Cas stared and stared.

“C’mon, Cas. Show me you’re still in there.”

The baby grinned.

Dean sighed. Sam looked at him.

“It’ll be okay,” Sam said. “So, he’s got the mind of a baby. Probably for the best anyway, right? Imagine how awful it would be if he could still remember everything but couldn’t do anything because of, well. . .”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Dean covered his face with his hands. He pulled at the skin under his eyes and around his mouth then exhaled slowly, biting down hard on his tongue. “Okay. Okay. I mean, this is--this is something different, but it’s not the weirdest we’ve ever dealt with, right? Right?”

“Right,” Sam agreed.

“I mean, I got de-aged. Can’t believe that bitch made me go through puberty again. Probably the most evil thing someone’s ever done to me.” Dean shuddered and winced as he recalled the incident. “And remember that time that teenage loser body-switched you?”

“Hard to forget it when you bring it up every other week.”

“It was hilarious. Anyway. Point is, we’ve dealt with weirder; we can deal with this for the time being. We’ve fried bigger fish and hunted down actual Biblical artifacts. God made us breakfast. And watched my porn.”

“Poor dude,” Sam said, frowning. “I think you scarred him. You sure you’re in good with him?”

“Point is, this doesn’t even make it to the top ten list of Weird Shit We’ve Dealt With. Finding one witch can’t be that hard.”

Sam frowned. He sniffed the air and grimaced. “Do you smell asparagus?”

Dean closed his eyes and threw his head back. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. He rubbed his face with his hands. Cas smiled on the bed.

Dean sighed. “All right,” he said, scooping Cas up by the armpits and holding him far out, unable to keep the disgust off his face. “All right. No biggie. No biggie. We’ll handle this.” He went into the bathroom before Sam could reply.

.  
.  
.

“Boom!” Dean said proudly, grinning like a maniac. “Baby cage!” He looked at Sam with that childish glint in his eye and that upward tick of his lips, nodding, waiting for validation. “It’s genius, right?”

“Take that off him,” Sam said, glancing up from his laptop and sighing. He rolled his eyes at the sight and shook his head in disappointment. Dean had overturned the stow-away crib liberated from the motel closet, and Sam could see the shock of blue eyes through the white mesh, fingers shoved into his mouth, feet in the air, kicking lazily.

“No way. This is how we keep him safe.”

“Safe from what? It’s a motel room, not an armory.”

Dean jolted and the joy drained from his face. “Um, let’s see, hmm, Let’s Count,” he said, mocking the the Count from Sesame Street. “Let’s count all the ways Cas can die in this motel room. The fifty pound TV, the nightstand, and the lamp could all fall on him, he could drown in the bathtub or even, hell, the fucking toilet, he could get stuck under one of the beds, he could stick his finger in one of the power outlets--”

“Okay, okay,” Sam said. “I guess you’re right. But we’re gonna be watching him. Not like he’s never not going to have eyes on him.”

“Damn right I’m right. Don’t you ever question me again. Besides, you’ve seen him when he’s not babified. Dude’s a sneaky little bastard. I don’t trust him to stay out of trouble. So, baby cage!”

“I think you’re taking just a little too much joy in this.”

“Look, it’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened to us. And he’s alive. We take our wins where we get them, Sam. I don’t know a lot of things, but I know how to not kill a baby. You turned out pretty okay.”

Dean grabbed his jacket off the bed and put it on, then picked up the car keys off the table.

“Wait a minute, where are you going?” Sam asked.

“The store,” Dean said in a tone that suggested Sam was stupid for even asking the question. “We need clothes, formula, bottles, a car seat, diapers and wipes--unless you’re cool with him just wearing your shirts to piss in?”

“You’re acting like he’s stuck like this forever.”

“He’s stuck like this for the time being. Let’s be real, we ain’t finding Elphaba within the next twenty minutes. In the meantime, can’t let him starve. I’ll be back in an hour, two tops. Don’t kill him while I’m gone.” Then Dean left, the motel door slamming loudly behind him. Sam stared, mouth wide-open for several moments, before he sighed and rubbed his face.

Cas gurgled, a mess of syllables that were nowhere near words. He poked at the mesh fabric and made the sound again. Sam huffed and smiled slightly. He closed the laptop and walked over to the crib.

“Not a fan of the baby cage either, are you?” Sam lifted the crib off and put it right side up. He then picked Cas up--thankfully, the new t-shirt that was wrapped around his bottom was still dry. Cas fisted Sam’s shirt and put his head against Sam’s chest. Sam froze for a second, every muscle in body tense as uncertainty ran through his veins. He’d actually never really spent much time around babies. The last time he’d been in extended contact with a baby was that year Jess’s sister brought her newborn over for a visit. Sam remembered it being a miserable weekend filled with non-stop wailing.

Sam swallowed and made sure he had a good grip on Cas. He couldn’t have weighed more than fifteen pounds. Picking him up was effortless. Sam’s mouth opened slightly as he realized what exactly he was holding: Cas was ancient, older than the stars, once had the power of God in his fingertips; and here Sam was, just carrying him.

Cas’s eyes were already closed and he yawned in contentment.

Sam went back to his research, Cas still close to his chest, hoping he could find something on the witch, fast.

.  
.  
.

Dean came back exactly two hours later with several bags hanging off his arm, kicking a car seat box into the room. It was four in the morning and Sam was exhausted. Dean dumped all the bags onto the floor and rubbed at his sore, red arms.

“Thank God for capitalism,” Dean said, bending down. He started pulling clothes out of the bags--all sorts of tiny fabrics in a myriad of vibrant colors, with cartoon animals and vehicles printed on them. “Only in America can you go to a store at two in the morning and buy a few hundred bucks worth of supplies.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Do we really need that much stuff?”

“We don’t know how long he’s gonna be like this. Better to be safe than sorry. Besides, it’s not like its our money anyway. Now give him.”

Dean didn’t wait. He took Cas from Sam’s arms and put him down on the bed. He dressed Cas in a diaper and a bright orange onesie that had a smiling cartoon excavator on it, with block letters spelling out Can you dig it?

“Can’t believe these are the ends we gotta go to make you change clothes,” Dean joked. Then he took out the jar of formula and went to the sink.

“You find anything?” Dean asked as he waited for the water to turn hot. He dumped a spoonful of the formula powder into the bottle.

“Nothing,” Sam said, sighing. “Checked the police reports, too, and hospitals to see if they got any Jane Does, but no one matches the description of our witch.”

Dean filled the bottle. He sighed as he screwed the nipple cap on and shook the bottle vigorously. Bubbles floated throughout the entire bottle. “What’re you thinking?”

Sam gnawed on his lip. “I’m thinking we go back to the bunker,” he said. “Check the libraries and store rooms. Maybe we have some kind of witch tracking spell. Or maybe us leaving town will make her show her mug again.”

Dean tested the bottle on his wrist. “Guess we don’t got much of a choice,” he said through a yawn. He went back to the bed and cradled Cas in his arms. Cas latched onto the bottle quickly and instinctively. “Sorry it took a while buddy,” Dean said, bouncing Cas slightly as he paced around the room. He didn’t take his eyes off Cas; it was like if he did, Cas would evaporate into the air straight from his arms. There was a softness that Sam hadn’t seen in Dean in years. Probably since before Dean went to Hell.

Sam watched quietly, mesmerized.

.  
.  
.

“You can’t put him in there!”

“Why not?”

“Dean, look at it! There’s no latch system. He’s gonna fly all over the place!”

“And if he does, he’ll love it, just like you did!”

Sam flinched. It took a moment for Dean’s words to process through his brain. “What?” When they did, he recoiled, hands going up to his scalp.

“You were just fine in the back. Dad used to bitch whip around the corners and you’d laugh your stupid little head off. You thought it was fucking hilarious.”

Sam’s face flushed. How the hell did he survive his childhood? “Is that supposed to be a good thing?”

“Why are you trying to make it a bad thing?”

“Dean--look, I love the Impala. You know I do. She’s always been home. She will always be home. But she’s not built for a car seat. She doesn’t even have air bags!”

Dean rolled his eyes dramatically and yanked hard on the rope. It was a hideous sight--Dean had wrapped the rope underneath the car seat and then over the back. Dean had to crawl over the stow away crib they’d stolen from the motel. It was stuck in the footwell and laid up awkwardly. Dean wrapped the ends of the rope around the headrests on the back of the seat, but the entire sight was haphazard, and an accident waiting to happen. If Cas was going to be stuck like this for any longer than the next few hours, they couldn’t do this to him.

“What do you suggest then?” Dean snapped. He put the sun cover over Cas’s face and backed out of the car.

“We need to get a car that won’t kill him.”

“We’re not gonna kill him. Dad did this with you and you’re still alive.”

Sam threw his head back and rubbed his face. He was glad there was no else in this parking lot. If someone saw them, saw Cas, saw the monstrosity Dean had gerryrigged, the police would be on them in no time, and Cas would get sent who the hell knows where.

“The airport is just a few miles down the road,” Sam said, trying to be diplomatic. It was getting more and more difficult, though, the more Dean kept opening his mouth to protest. “That means there’s a car rental place nearby. We’ll rent a minivan till we’ve got him back to normal.”

Dean’s face visibly went green. He looked at the Impala forlornly. “A minivan? You want me to give Baby up for a minivan?”

“It’s not--” Sam growled then exhaled, trying to calm down. He inhaled through his nose. “Look. We rent the van. One of us will drive the Impala back to the bunker. We’re not ditching the Impala or anything; we’re doing what’s logical. Do it for Cas. If we kill him in a car crash, he’s gonna be pissed.”

Dean blanched. He recoiled like Sam had slapped him. He looked over his shoulder at the car seat. Something changed in his face. It was subtle and Sam wasn’t sure he could put it into words. Something in Dean’s eyes shifted--the snark was gone. Dean swallowed.

“Fine,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine, we’ll get a freakin’--” Dean grimaced, “minivan. But I’m not keeping it a second longer than we’re gonna need it.” Then Dean got back into the rear seats, sitting beside Cas and putting his hands on the car seat to hold it steady. “The things I do for you,” he grumbled, re-adjusting the car seat.

Sam couldn’t help but smile slightly, despite everything.

.  
.  
.

To Sam’s utter surprise, Dean was the one that insisted on driving the minivan back to the bunker. He filled out all the paperwork for the baby-poop colored car and then handed Sam the keys to the Impala.

“You sure you’re okay?” Sam asked, actually concerned. Sam could count on hand the number of times Dean had willingly given over the keys to the Impala--one of them was last night, when Dean had huddled in the backseat with Cas against his chest.

“Yes, Sam,” Dean said impatiently. He worked on securing Cas’s seat in. He got the latch system down pretty quick. Sam was impressed. “I’m capable of driving a minivan.”

“I know you’re capable,” Sam said. “I just figured you wouldn’t want to be caught dead.”

“I don’t. But you gotta do what you gotta do. Besides, not like I got any more dignity to lose.”

Dean pulled the straps as taut as they could go then put the sun shield over Cas’s face. Cas slept soundly through everything, only occasionally twitching in his sleep. “Hightail it to the bunker,” Dean said. He pressed the button on the fob and the door closed automatically. “I’ll get there as fast as I can. This thing’s horsepower is probably slower than an actual horse, but. . .” he sighed. “Let’s just head home and try and figure this shit out.”

“Right,” Sam said, shifting on his feet awkwardly. He patted Dean on the shoulder. “Okay, let’s hit the road.”

.  
.  
.

Sam got back to the bunker three hours before Dean. He walked back into the familiar space that had become their home. He’d been resistant to getting acclimated, at first. The bunker was a magical space full of all sorts of knowledge, passed down for centuries from one scholar to another, all with the same goal: eradicating the supernatural from their world. The bunker was a magical combat zone. It wasn’t a playground.

But Sam hadn’t been able to resist. After spending his entire life on the road, stuck in one unsanitary motel room after another and the Impala, having his own space, having a constant to come back to after each hunt--it grew on Sam. He fought it, at first. Didn’t want to get too attached too quickly, like Dean did. But it was impossible. He loved the bunker.

But when Sam walked back into the bunker that afternoon, he stood in the middle of the library and observed everything that was around them.

He thought of Dean’s freakout in the motel room. All the things that could’ve killed Cas.

The bunker was quadruple the death threat of a dirty motel room.

Sam ran his hands through his hair, inhaled deeply, and got to work.

.  
.  
.

Dean entered the bunker after the sun had set with a pizza box on one hip and Cas’s car seat on the other.

“Aloha, bitch,” Dean said, his boots banging against the metal staircase.

Sam’s hair was glued to his face with sweat. He’d spent the last several hours cleaning, hiding all the knives and guns, triple checking that all the store rooms were locked, the electrical outlets were concealed, and he wasn’t even halfway done. He’d spent just the last twenty minutes alone on his hands and knees, searching for nails in the floor.

Dean dumped the pizza box on the table, then put Cas on the bench.

“What took you so long?” Sam asked, chest heaving, as he pushed himself to his feet. His jeans were torn at the knees.

“Um,” Dean said, looking at Sam like he was an idiot. “Can’t let this guy go more than four hours between feedings. Or changings. On the plus side, though, that van actually gets pretty good gas mileage.”

“You thinkin’ about upgrading the Impala then?”

Dean glared. “Excuse you. The Impala is the upgrade.” He flipped open the pizza box and took out a slice of pepperoni. He ate it over the box.

“There are things called plates, Dean.”

“I’m saving the environment,” Dean said with his mouth full. “Not wasting paper or water or whatever.”

Sam rolled his eyes.

“What’ve you been doing?”

“Trying to baby proof this place.”

Dean nodded. “Good call. I’ll have to get the stuff from the car.”

“What stuff?”

“There’s more baby stuff in Baby’s trunk.”

Something in Sam’s chest constricted. He couldn’t help the whine that tore out of his throat. “There’s more baby stuff?” Dean had bought all sorts of crap the night before--clothes, diapers, bottles, formulas--lots and lots of clothes and diapers and bottles and formulas. “What more do we need?”

Dean chuckled. “Oh my poor, ignorant baby brother. Still so much to learn.” He finished the rest of his slice of pizza in two inhuman bites and then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Better eat while you’ve got the time. We’ve got about half an hour before he’s due for a feeding and then who knows what’s gonna happen from there. I’ll get the rest of the stuff.”

Dean then left back up the stairs and Sam could only watch helplessly. He stared at the car seat. Cas was sleeping peacefully, hands curled into little fists pressed against his face. His hair was messy, sticking in all directions--he looked a lot like he did back when they first met him.

Sam stood there, unsure of what to do. The smell of the pizza made his stomach twist into uncomfortable knots, hot and tight and heavy. He could feel the imminent freakout buzzing underneath his skin, barely contained.

He thought he’d been holding it together pretty well. Dean had taken everything in stride so far, and Sam was content to follow Dean’s lead most of the time.

But this. . .

He wasn’t sure why Dean wasn’t freaking out out more. Besides the initial panic of not knowing whether Cas was dead or not, Dean had been pretty chill. He seemed almost unaffected by the fact that Cas was now a baby.

Which meant Sam was going to have to freak out for the both of them.

Cas yawned and his eyes opened blearily.

“Oh god,” Sam said. “Um.”

Cas stared at him. He grinned. Sam had known Cas for almost ten years and could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen the guy change facial expressions. This grin was probably the most un-Cas like thing Sam had ever seen. It was unsettling. Sam swallowed.

“Hi?” Sam said, glancing to the door at the top of the stairs. Dean still hadn’t come back. Sam slowly walked closer, like he was approaching a skittish animal. Which was ridiculous. Because he was the skittish animal.

Cas’s eyes started to water.

“Please don’t,” Sam said, just as Cas started to wail.

“No, no. It’s okay. It’s okay.” Sam unbuckled Cas from the seat and held him high so their eyes were level. “Don’t cry.” He bounced Cas, like he’d seen Dean do earlier, but it only made the crying worse. “Um. Are you dirty?” Sam balanced for a second before he slowly felt at Cas’s bottom, wincing as he did so. He couldn’t tell anything from that, so he winced and sniffed, but he didn’t smell anything toxic.

“Okay. Okay. So, you’re not dirty. Are you hungry?”

Cas kept crying, seeming to not need air. His face was flushed and fat tears rolled his down his cheeks.

“You shouldn’t be hungry, yet,” Sam said. He gritted his teeth. “Uh, peek-a-boo? Tickle tickle?” He tickled Cas’s leg, but Cas yanked his leg back and his wailing grew louder. It was right by Sam’s ear and Sam flinched.

He continued his routine of bouncing, bending his knees as he did so, but Cas kept crying.

“Don’t cry, Cas. C’mon, don’t cry. Please stop. Please stop.”

The door finally opened and Sam exhaled in relief as he looked up the stairs. Dean looked at him cautiously, an eyebrow raised. He had the stow-away crib tucked under his arm and two other Wal-Mart bags hooked over his elbow.

“Don’t,” Sam said.

“Really? Can’t leave you alone for two minutes before you make him cry?”

“I don’t know what he wants,” Sam admitted. Cas was still crying right by his ear. “He’s not dirty.”

Dean dumped the crib and bags at the bottom of the stairs and exhaled, rolling his eyes. He stuck his arms out and Sam passed Cas over, relieved.

“What is it, buddy? Did Sam’s ugly mug give you nightmares? Yeah, me too. It’s the hair, isn’t it?”

Sam growled.

“He always have his hand in his mouth?”

“What?”

“His hand. Has he had it in his mouth long?”

“I don’t know,” Sam said. “Kind of hard to concentrate with him screaming in my ear.”

“Figured you’d be used to making babies cry by now.”

Sam didn’t dignify that with any response. Dean pulled Cas’s hand out of his mouth with a soft plop. Dean stuck his finger in Cas’s mouth.

“Dean,” Sam said, forcing himself to look away.

“There it is,” Dean said. “Ouch, you really got the shit end of the stick, didn’t you, bud?”

Dean rubbed his fingers in and out of Cas’s mouth. The crying softened.

“What the hell did you do?” Sam asked, unable to hide his amazement.

“He’s got a tooth coming in. I got just the remedy.” Dean walked over to the small table by the bookshelf and picked up the half full bottle of Jim Beam. He poured himself a glass.

“Is now really the time for that?” Sam snapped. Dean dipped his finger into the glass and then stuck it back into Cas’s mouth. “Dean! What--what the hell are you doing? You can’t give him that!”

“Shut up,” Dean said, dipping his finger back into the glass and rubbing the alcohol on Cas’s gums again. “Dad did this for you all the time.”

Cas’s cries softened and he sucked on Dean’s finger, sniffing. Dean took a sip from the bottle and walked in circles.

“Eat,” Dean said, gesturing to the pizza. “While it’s still warm. If he’s teething already, we’re not gonna get much sleep.”

Sam was speechless. He could only watch wordlessly as Dean kept his circling routine, sipping at his glass and making faces at Cas that elicited tiny giggles.

“Got something for ya,” Dean told Cas, digging into the Wal-Mart bags until he pulled out a stuffed animal.

“What is that?” Sam asked, scooting slightly closer. It was probably the ugliest stuffed animal Sam had ever seen.

“It’s a platypus,” Dean said, waving it in front of Cas’s face. “I figured, it’s kinda like him, y’know? Half one thing, half another.”

Cas reached out and grabbed the toy. Dean smiled wide enough to show teeth.

Sam wondered, briefly, if he had actually died and this was some sort of awful hellscape.

.  
.  
.

Dean sat on the library bench feeding Cas while Sam went through the bags he’d brought in. More clothes, more bottles, baby shampoo, and a baby monitor. Sam read over the box of the monitor, silently surprised that Dean had gone for one of the more expensive models. It had a digital camera and a one-way sound system.

“Put the crib in my room,” Dean said.

“Huh?”

“You heard me. You can’t last two minutes without making him cry. I’ll deal with him.”

Sam opened his mouth to protest that this wasn’t all on Dean, then he dutifully shut it. He wasn’t going to complain if Dean was offering, and anyway--

It was interesting to see Dean like this.

“Set the monitor up while you’re in there,” Dean said, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

Sam picked up the crib and headed down that way.

.  
.  
.

They spent the next two days in the library at their computers, going through anything and everything they could to find their witch. Every so often, they would put the computers down and look through their books instead for spells or witch lore, but nothing had anything useful.

They were stuck scanning through all sorts of news sites. Sam even went onto the conspiracy websites. One of them talked about the incident with the Sun dying a few months ago, until it had miraculously gotten better with no explanation. The poster was convinced it had been done by aliens trying to eradicate human life, until the government stepped in and killed the aliens. Another posited that the sun didn’t actually even exist--it was just a hologram the government projected, and last year’s incident was the result of a system malfunction.

Sam raised his eyebrows and scoffed at the ridiculousness of it all, yet, he couldn’t help but scroll further and further down the forum.

Cas was on his stomach on a blanket on the floor. The little platypus doll was right beside him. He tried to kick his legs and use his arms as leverage to get moving. Every now and then he succeeded and managed to crawl a few inches, but Dean would put his foot on the blanket and pull him back. Dean didn’t even need to look to know when Cas had moved. He had it down to a science, and Cas must’ve thought it was some kind of game because he giggled every time Dean did it.

It was still the most unnerving sound Sam had ever heard. It still jostled him when he heard it because it was the antithesis of everything he had ever associated with Cas. Cas was serious. He was stoic. He did not giggle.

“Anything?” Dean asked, rubbing at his eyes.

“Nope,” Sam said, popping the P.

Dean sighed. “Okay. Well, let’s take a break. She’ll show when she shows--and she is gonna show up. Only a matter of time before she gets the itch to rob and kill again. But going through the same fifty sites every twenty minutes ain’t gonna do anything.” He stood and cracked his back, then bent down and picked Cas up. He was in a horrid yellow onesie with flowers and a smiling bee on it.

“Take a break? Where?”

“I don’t know. I figured we could go to park. Get some sun.”

Sam’s mouth dropped open. “Who are you and what have you done with my brother?”

Dean flipped Sam off. “I’m not a hermit. I like the sun.”

“We literally live underground. We’re about as far from the sun as we can possibly get.”

“And?” Dean didn’t give Sam time to respond. He grabbed the diaper bag that lay by the bottom of the stairs and headed up. “You comin’ or not?”

.  
.  
.

It was a Friday afternoon, so of course the park was crowded. Dozens of stay at home moms supervised their children as they climbed over the jungle gym, or ran around like maniacs, and they sat gossiping or reading on the benches. Dean rubbed sunscreen onto Cas’s face--Cas’s face scrunched up in discomfort--before he unbuckled him from the car seat and carried him into the park.

Sam looked around cautiously, self-consciousness creeping up his neck. Dean stopped as two siblings chasing each other in a game of tag raced right past them.

“You sure this is a good idea?” Sam asked.

Sam could hear Dean’s eyeroll. “It’s just the park. What is wrong with the freakin’ park? I thought you were the nature loving hippie.”

“It’s not the park,” Sam said, annoyed, as he looked around once more. “It’s us. Look around?”  
`  
Dean did, then shrugged. “I don’t see anything. What, you see a monster or something?” Dean clutched Cas tighter to his chest as he whipped his head around to survey the area.

“We’re the only men,” Sam hissed.

“Wow, Sam, that’s pretty sexist.”

“We’re gonna stand out like sore thumbs.”

“Have you seen you? With your hair and Sasquatch feet? Sam, you stand out no matter where you go. We can be at the park. No one’s gonna bother us. Jesus.”

They came to an empty sandbox, and Dean set Cas down gently. Cas sat up and smacked his hands against the sand, grunting. Dean sat down with his legs stretched out and started to dig.

Sam looked over his shoulder, unable to relax. He didn’t understand how Dean could be so nonchalant about all this. It was like he didn’t even realize the kind of trouble they could get in. It would only take one mom thinking they were some kind of creepers before shit would hit the fan. Dean wasn’t concerned at all though--he was--

He was making fucking sandcastles.

“Go be a killjoy over there,” Dean said, not looking at Sam. He and Cas were digging in the sand, and Cas was smiling wide. His tooth was visible, peeking above his gums.

Sam couldn’t deal with them. He ran his fingers through his hair and stalked off to the one empty bench. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at them for a while. Dean pushed sand together in a triangle shape, patting it together until Cas smashed it, and then Dean grinned.

Sam couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Dean so happy and laid-back.

The last few months, when Lucifer was riding Cas like a one-trick pony, and Amara was out there in the wind somewhere, insidious and hidden, had been stressful, depressing, and left much to be desired in the way of hope for the future. Dean barely slept during those months, between his binge drinking and constant research, and Sam nearly had to force feed Dean every meal, force Dean to shower, force Dean away from the research for his own health.

They saved Cas, saved the world, got Amara and Chuck to make up before they flipped off to who the hell knows where.

Sam had never seen Dean 180 so fast and so hard.

When Amara ripped Lucifer out of Cas, she left him human. And Dean stepped up to the plate without pestering or impatience. He was kind and gentle and forgiving. Almost like a stranger.

Now that Sam thought about it, Dean wasn’t acting much different now than he was when they first got Cas back. Dean was the one to help Cas acclimate. Cooking him a variety of foods to try, finding all sorts of TV shows and movies to watch together, buying different clothes, even if Cas still stuck more to his suit and trench coat schtick than was probably healthy.

Dean wasn’t a touchy-feely person. He was abrasive, crass, rude, impatient--and Cas was on the brunt end of that stick more than he wasn’t.

And then. . .

And then he wasn’t anymore.

Sam watched Dean play with Cas in the sand. Even as a baby, even without his memories, with the mentality of a baby, Cas looked at Dean in awe--like Dean crafted the Universe, not God.

Sam wondered why.

.  
.  
.

They stayed there for a little over an hour before Cas fell asleep, and Dean only barely caught Cas in time before he face-planted into the sand.

Dean cradled Cas in his arms as he walked back to the Impala.

“Should’ve put some of that sunscreen on yourself,” Sam snickered.

“Shut up.” Dean scratched at his face, which was tomato red.

The sky was orange as the sun started to dip below the horizon. The children that were there when they first arrived where long gone. The park was almost deserted now.

“He needs a change,” Dean said.

“Not it,” Sam said, touching his nose.

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, when are you ever it?” But Dean was already digging through the diaper bag in the car and got to work.

.  
.  
.

The days dragged on and they still couldn’t find anything on the witch. Absolutely nothing. The trouble she’d been stirring those weeks when they were first tracking her seemed to disappear entirely. No random goat slaughtering, no mysterious deaths or robberies at health shops, no suspect killings--it was like she had just vanished into thin air.

And as the days dragged on, the more awkward it became for Sam to be around Dean. The way he acted around Cas--Sam couldn’t wrap his head around it. Dean was up before Sam every day, sitting in the kitchen, or the library, feeding Cas, or with Cas on the floor playing in the blanket while Dean worked at his computer. One morning, Sam even woke up to an empty bunker. He panicked for a solid three minutes before he managed to race out the bunker, only to find Dean sitting on the front steps with Cas, feeding him and watching the sun rise.

“Since when are you ever up before seven?” Sam asked one morning as he slipped on his running shoes.

Dean glared over the bottle. “I can wake up before the sun rises, too,” he said in between a yawn. “Don’t know why the hell anyone would chose to do this. Doofus here’s got a schedule, though, and I’ve gotta stick to it, or else he gets cranky. Yes he does. He’s a real Mr. Grouchy-Pants.”

Sam shuddered. “Do you really have to do the baby voice?”

“Yes we do,” Dean said, over exaggerating his lip movements. “‘Cause when we get you back to full-sized, we’ll all have a laugh about it, and you’ll be pissed at me, but for right now, there’s not a damn thing you can do, and I’m gonna milk the fun outta this for all it’s worth, yes I am.”

Cas still sucked on the bottle.

“You want anything while I’m out?” Sam asked as he made his way up the stairs.

“A million dollars, a date with Sandra Bullock, front row tickets to a Metallica concert, burgers from that shack in New England, and to not have to change another diaper. Ever. Again.”

Sam snorted. “I’ll see what I can do.”

.  
.  
.

Dean was never without Cas.

In the pre-dawn hours of the morning, they were together.

In the post-dusk hours of the night, they were together.

Dean never let Cas out of his sight, and Cas was never out of his hands for more than a few minutes. Hell, Dean even synchronized his nap schedule to Cas’s. Sam watched from the baby monitor more than once, Dean putting Cas down into the crib and then flopping stomach-first onto his bed, knocking the pillows everywhere, falling asleep instantly.

Sam glanced at the baby monitor every few minutes, taking his eyes off the laptop, which still showed nothing suspicious, gaining them no leads on their witch.

Sam was beginning to think they might have to involve Rowena or Crowley. Surely they were getting desperate now, weren’t they? He tried to bring it up to Dean the night before, but Dean wouldn’t hear it. He’d scooped Cas right off the blanket and went to bed, leaving Sam fuming and frustrated. Sam understood why Dean was hesitant--Sam didn’t trust either Rowena or Crowley, but their relationship wasn’t built on trust, it was built on need. Sam called them when he absolutely had to; he’d repay the favor when the time came. In the meantime, they relied a lot on mutually assured destruction. Sam wouldn’t let them hurt Cas. Neither would Dean.

“A few more days,” Sam muttered to himself, scrolling through another news site. “Give it a few more days, then I’ll call Rowena, whether Dean agrees or not. This is ridiculous.” Rowena was the most powerful witch in the world, and she was a reluctant ally Sam wasn’t going to waste.

Movement from the monitor caught Sam’s eye. Dean got up from the bed and walked over to the crib, rubbing his eyes. He picked Cas up and Sam dutifully looked away as Dean began the baby duties. He turned the monitor away from him, unable to help the dirty feeling that vibrated under his bones. He felt like he was intruding on something not meant for his eyes.

He felt like that a lot around Dean and Cas. They way they looked at each other sometimes--

Sometimes, Sam knew Dean better than back of his own hand. And sometimes, Sam felt like he didn’t know Dean at all. That happened a lot more when Cas was around.

Sam didn’t know what to make of it, but he knew that Cas fulfilled something in Dean not even Sam could manage.

And whatever it was they had, Sam would not intrude. He wouldn’t steal whatever indefinable thing Dean and Cas shared; this tiny thing that seemed to shred the cosmos, that couldn’t be torn apart by the forces of Heaven or Hell.

So Sam would suck it up, no matter how awkward it was sometimes to stand there and just watch them, unsure of what it was that hung between them, vibrating in the air. Sam wouldn’t say anything, wouldn’t question, wouldn’t tease, wouldn’t probe.

It wasn’t his place.

.  
.  
.

Sam woke to his door being slammed wide open, the metal vibrating, and Dean throwing a pair of underwear at him.

“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty!” Dean yelled. “I got a lead on our witch!”

Sam rubbed at his eyes, vision bleary and head pounding. He could barely make out the numbers on his clock. It was just past five a.m.

“Dude,” Sam groaned, burying his face in his pillow. “What the hell, man?”

“Rise and sun, up and at ‘em, early bird gets the worm, you’re gonna miss the bus. What do I gotta say to get you off your ass?”

Sam rolled his eyes and pushed himself into a sitting position, throwing the underwear down to the ground and finding up enough patience to be grateful that they were at least clean.

“What did you even find?” Sam muttered, smacking his lips. His mouth was dry.

Dean was already dressed and carrying the cars eat full of a still sleeping Cas.

“Saw her on the news. Name’s Stacy Stein. She got booked last night for a DUI in Absarokee.”

“Montana?”

“Hey, looked who passed geography! Already got your duffel ready, go piss and get in the car.”

“What would she be doing in Montana? From New Mexico?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, dude. What I do know is we need rubber to hit the road now, before the trail goes cold again.”

And then Dean turned and left. Sam threw himself backwards on the bed and rubbed at his face. He thought of all the times he needled Dean for being cranky in the mornings, needled Dean to wake up earlier, eat healthier, exercise some--

He wasn’t going to complain about Dean’s unhealthy habits ever again.

.  
.  
.

While Dean drove, Sam looked over the police report. Dean was right: it was their witch. He snorted as he read over the report, unable to believe she actually got caught driving under the influence. She was sloppy, they knew that, but this was an entirely different level.

“What’s the plan?” Sam asked. “We just walk into the station with a baby?”

“You walk in,” Dean said. “I’ll wait outside and you get the cure out of her.”

“They’re not going to just let me talk to her.”

“Yes they will. Say she’s on a watch list or something like that. She’s a person of interest in a high profile crime. C’mon, man, these people don’t get paid enough to check that thoroughly.”

Sam exhaled, blowing a strand of hair out of his face. Dean glanced up in the little child mirror--a small, box shaped mirror underneath the rearview. Sam twisted his neck around over the seat.

“He’s sleeping,” Sam said nonchalantly.

Dean tightened his hands around the steering wheel. “I know.”

Sam wanted to ask what was the matter then, but he shut his mouth with an audible click. He turned his head forward and looked straight ahead.

It was going to be a long drive.

.  
.  
.

Dean parked in front of the police station. “Okay,” he said, turning to Sam. “You know the plan, right?”

“We’ve only been over it five times.” Sam rolled his eyes and checked his FBI badge. He pulled down the tiny mirror and adjusted his hair.

“Get the spell out of her. Don’t care what kind of threats you have to make, just get it done.”

“I’m not attracting the attention of all those policemen.”

“Then don’t.”

Sam groaned. “Wait here,” he said, exiting the car. He adjusted his tie as he walked inside, getting hit with a strong wave of A/C that made him blink. Sam walked up to the desk.

“Yes?” the guard, a young woman with her hair pulled into a tight ponytail, asked, not looking up from her keyboard.

Sam passed his FBI badge across the desk and pulled out the iPad. “I need to speak with a woman you booked earlier this week,” he said, mustering up his best authoritative voice. “It’s a matter of national security.”

In less than ten minutes, Sam was in a private interrogation room, waiting, until a guard led the witch in. She had handcuffs at her wrists. The guard secured them to the table and looked at Sam.

“You sure you don’t need back up?”

Sam grinned humorlessly. “I got it.”

“Okay, dude. Holler if she gives you any trouble.”

The guard left. Sam waited until he could no longer hear the footsteps.

The witch was young. Probably early twenties, with blonde hair that hung in front of her face and pale, pink lips.

“Well, if it isn’t Sam Winchester,” Stacy said, a hint of Southern accent in her voice. “You sure do know how to woo a girl.”

“What’s the cure?” Sam said, keeping his face neutral.

“Cure? I don’t know what in tarnation you’re talking about.”

Sam pulled at his lip with his teeth and leaned forward. “Turn Cas back to normal, and I’ll make it quick.”

Stacy huffed and looked at Sam with disdain. She sneered, and Sam noticed the points of her canines. “Honey,” she said in exasperation, “I know where I’m going. And I know there ain’t nothing you can do to me up here that’ll match what happens down there. So it really don’t matter if you make it quick or draw it out, or hell, if you even do it at all. End result’s still the same.”

Damn it. Sam gritted his teeth. “I’ll make you a deal.”

She smiled cruelly. “I don’t negotiate with terrorists.” Stacy rolled her shoulders. “What’s the big deal? It’s not I hurt your little buddy. I did a good thing! You think I don’t know about him? He’s the angel. Or, well, he used to be. But he’s still got all those angel memories back up in there, shifting round with the rocks in his head. How would you feel if you woke up one day as a dog? You’re a dog now, but you still remember everything about being a person. Aware every ticking second of everything you used to be, everything you’ve lost.” She raised her eyebrows. “Now imagine if you turned into a dog, but didn’t even remember being human? Well, can’t miss what you don’t remember, right?”

Sam gritted his teeth. His molars ached. He leaned back and folded his hands on top of the table. The metal creaked under his weight.

“Whatever deal you made, I can break it.”

Stacy raised her eyebrows.

“I’m serious. I’ve got friends in low places.” Crowley wasn’t a friend, not even in the loosest of terms, but he was an ally, and one Sam wasn’t going to toss aside just yet. He did have his uses. “Fix Cas up and I make a call.”

She snorted. She shook her head and tutted. “Oh my,” she said, laughing. “No way. You make the call first.”

“Not happening.”

“Then I guess you better set up that college fund.” She shrugged.

Sam growled. “Listen,” he whispered, voice hoarse and rough as he dredged up every ounce of his fury, every iota of aggression. “They’re not gonna keep you here forever. I read the report. A day, maybe two, and then you’re just taking up a bed needed for a real bad guy. And when that happens, I will hunt you down. You’re nothing. Just one little witch. I’ve dealt with Satan and made it out the other end.”

She flinched. Something in her eyes shook.

Sam had her.

She inhaled shakily. “It’s a nature spell,” she said. “Give me some paper; I’ll write the ingredients down.”

Sam reached into his bag without taking his eyes off her and pulled out his legal pad and a blue crayon. She looked at him in disbelief when she saw them.

“A crayon? What’re you, three?”

“Can’t stab me with it,” Sam said flatly. She rolled her eyes and started to scribble down a list of instructions.

“There,” she said, shoving them back to Sam. “Don’t come after me.”

“Don’t give me a reason to,” Sam said. He stood up with the legal pad tucked under his arm and left.

.  
.  
.

Dean scratched his head. “I think she played you, man.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Did you even read this thing? Okay, we have to sit under a full moon, covered in equus stercus--wait, isn’t that horse shit? We have to wear horse shit?”

“You have to wear horse shit,” Sam said. “I ain’t touching that stuff.”

Dean was so disgusted he couldn’t say anything. He just continued to hold Cas close to his chest. “When even is the full moon?”

Sam had already started looking it up on his computer. “Tomorrow night.”

“Doesn’t that seem convenient?” Dean asked.

“I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth,” Sam said. “But you’ll wear its shit, so. . .”

Dean groaned and looked down at Cas. “God. You’re lucky I like you. The things I do. . .”

.  
.  
.  
Luckily for them, if there was one thing Montana had in surplus, it was horse farms.

Sam extended his arms as far from his body as he was physically capable, grimacing and overcome with an immense urge to gag. The bucket swung like a pendulum.

“This is disgusting,” he said, then immediately regretted it; speaking got the smell stuck in his mouth.

“You got no right to complain,” Dean said. He had Cas on his shoulders, one hand keeping him up while Cas’s fingers were curled in Dean’s hair. “I’m the one that’s gonna have to wear it.”

In that moment, Sam couldn’t be bothered to sympathize with Dean. His mind was too preoccupied with the effort of not vomiting everything he’d ever eaten in his entire life.

The full moon slowly crept up the sky.

They walked into an area of woods. Sam led Dean and Cas a ways back, so that they weren’t visible past the layers of trees.

“Okay,” Sam said, setting down the bucket. He dug into his pocket for the piece of paper. There was a strange incantation written on it. Sam squinted, struggling to see in the dark, but he could not recognize the language.

Dean had a forlorn look in his eyes. He swallowed and passed Cas off to Sam, then took the paper. Sam took Cas and took several steps back. Cas grabbed onto Sam’s hair and tugged on it.

“Goddamnit,” Dean said, sticking his hands into the bucket. A wet squelching sound filled the air. Sam frowned in disgust and covered Cas’s face with his hand, taking another two step backs for good measure. Dean raised his hands slowly, and grimaced; he looked forlornly up at the moon and shivered, before, in a rush of confidence, he slapped the substance over his arms. He rubbed it over his clothes and skin and then dug his hands back into the bucket and covered his legs and neck. Dean’s back was to Sam, but the smell wafted all the way over to Sam, who fought the urge to vomit.

“I hate this, I hate this, I hate this,” Dean said, stomping his feet. It was almost funny to see Dean throwing a tantrum like a toddler, but Sam couldn’t find any joy in the situation, all things considered.

“You better fucking appreciate all the things I’m doing for you, Cas!” Dean yelled.

“Don’t swear in front of the baby,” Sam snapped.

Dean flipped Sam off. “You catch that?”

Sam snorted. “Just read the damn spell already. You smell like shit.”

“Fuck you.” Dean pulled out the card and began to read out the spell. The syllables were harsh, rough and guttural; it almost sounded like Enochian to Sam, even though he knew it wasn’t the case. Dean galloped through the words with ease, despite his unfamilarity with them. It took Dean two minutes to finish, and when he came to the end, he looked up at the moon.

A large breeze came through, whistling through the tree leaves, and somewhere in the distance, Sam heard a wolf howl.

The wind died down. The wolf quieted.

Neither said anything for several, tense seconds.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean kicked the bucket and threw the note card down onto the ground. He stomped onto it with his boot, grinding his heel into the dirt. Then he stomped on it again. “I told you she was playing us! I told you!” Dean spun around, face flushed in anger. His hands were shaking. Sam tightened his grip on Cas.

“We don’t know that,” Sam said. “Maybe you said the words wrong!”

“We both know I didn’t say the words wrong, Sam!”

“Do we?”

“I’m covered in horse shit! I said those words right! Hell, I don’t think they’re even a real language! She played us, she--” Dean broke off and sighed. He leaned his head back. He nearly rubbed his face with his hands, but at the last second he remembered what was on his hands and tossed them down back to his sides with a disgusted and discouraged look on his face. Dean opened his eyes and sighed, looking at Sam sadly. “What do we do now?”

Sam looked at Cas. He was sleepy, eyes barely held open, head resting on Sam’s shoulder. Dean kept looking at Cas, something swimming in his eyes. It was a look Sam had come to recognize these few weeks with Cas: Dean wanted to hold him.

Of course, Dean couldn’t do that right now.

“We do what we always do,” Sam said, swallowing and trying to muster up confidence he didn’t have. But Dean needed him to. Dean needed to have faith. “We go back to the drawing board and we don’t stop until we find out what the hell it is we need to do. We will fix this, Dean.”

Dean nodded, but Sam saw it in his eyes: Dean didn’t believe him. That was okay. Sam would just have to believe enough for the both of them.

“But first,” Sam said, dramatically taking another two steps back from Dean, “you need to shower.”

Dean rolled his eyes and flipped Sam off.

.  
.  
.

They got back to the motel well past midnight. Dean drove, after spending a not insubstantial amount of time padding down the front seats with towels and bar napkins, and Sam sat in the back with Cas. They drove with the windows open, but the smell still permeated the car and made Sam’s nose burn. Cas fell asleep on the drive; how, Sam had no clue. The smell was going to be making appearances in Sam’s nightmares for the rest of his life.

Dean parked the car close to their motel door, a rare occurrence, and they raced inside. Cas woke up and started fussing. Small, breathy cries.

“That’s his hungry cry,” Dean said, looking at Cas in Sam’s arms. “I’ll get his bottle ready.”

“I’ll get his bottle ready,” Sam snapped. “You need to get far away!”

“Whose fault is it I’m like this? Besides, I bet you couldn’t feed a turtle!” Then Dean looked down at himself in disgust and realization.

Dean left to shower, but not before hovering over Sam first. “Make sure the bottle’s not too hot,” he said, watching as Sam tested a bit of the formula over his wrist. Dean frowned but looked at Sam’s lack of reaction, then nodded. “That should be good, but watch him just in case.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Just--just go already! Take a shower, you stink. I’m about to start crying.”

Dean glared. “Ha ha. I'm serious, though, you gotta make sure--”

“The bottle’s fine.” Sam tightened his grip on the bottle and adjusted Cas in his other arm. “It’s just feeding. I’ve been fighting monsters since I was sixteen. I can feed a baby. And I so too could feed a turtle!”

Dean looked at Cas. There was something in his eyes that Sam couldn’t quite place--an emotion he’d never seen before on Dean. Something between somber and desire. And something indefinable. Finally, Dean swallowed and nodded. “Okay. I won’t be long.”

“Take all the time you need. Seriously. We won’t miss you.”

Dean finally turned around and went into the bathroom. Sam sighed and rolled his eyes.

“What’s his deal, huh?” he asked Cas as he sat down in the chair. He arranged his elbows so that Cas could fit comfortably in them, then placed the nipple near Cas’s mouth. Cas latched on quickly, eyes closed in contentment.

Sam huffed and smiled.

“Seriously, what’s Dean’s problem? Even covered in shit, he keeps acting like I’m gonna kill you or something. I’m not an idiot. I can take of you just as well as he can. No offense, but you’re pretty easy. You sleep half the day anyway. Hell, you’re less likely to get yourself killed now than when you’re full-sized.”

Cas, unsurprisingly, didn’t say anything. He kept sucking. Warm bubbles floated at the bottom of the bottle. It was actually pretty relaxing. Just staying still and watching. Time slipped away from Sam.

The bathroom door opened and steam rolled out, bringing the temperature of the room up a few degrees immediately.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m feeding him,” Sam snapped. “God, Dean, I’m not a fucking idiot. It’s just a bottle.”

“No, you’re--God, you’re gonna give him colic.” Dean strode over, towel wrapped haphazardly around his waist, water still dripping down his chest, hair soaking wet. His skin was bright red and scrubbed raw. He had his usual irritated look marring his face.

“Sure, Dean,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. He was sick of Dean treating him like an idiot. Sick of Dean acting like he was going to break Cas.

“Seriously, you’re holding the bottle all wrong.” Dean sighed in annoyance. He reached out and grabbed the bottle from Sam’s hand. Sam huffed in irritation; with Cas in his arms, he had no choice but to sit still as Dean re-adjusted the bottle. Cas was still in his arms and made a sound of annoyance as the bottle was taken from him. For a moment, he even looked like their Cas: brows pinched, totally done with the world. Dean wrapped Sam’s fingers around the bottle delicately, and angled it further upward. It was now at a forty-five degree angle. “There. See? No bubbles. No air can get into it. Jesus, how the hell did you get into Stanford again?” Dean shook his head and walked to his bed. He began digging through his duffel bag for his pajamas.

Sam swallowed and looked down at Cas. He seemed to be eating easier now, eyes closed, totally relaxed. And now that Sam was focusing on it, he realized Dean was right: there were no more air bubbles.

Something rattled in Sam’s chest.

It struck him then how totally helpless Cas was. He’d known that before; known it on a logical level. He knew it--Cas needed them to keep him alive; fed and clean and healthy. But it wasn’t until that moment that Sam realized it at a soul-deep level. He understood it. Like this, Cas was utterly helpless, totally dependent on Sam and Dean for survival. Dependent on them not to screw up. To know how things were supposed to be done. Sam looked at the bottle again, overly conscious of how it felt in his hand. Even a tiny mistake--like holding the bottle at the wrong angle--could hurt Cas. It could really, really hurt him. Dean’s words played over in his mind again--he could’ve given Cas colic. One of the most painful diseases that existed.

Sam couldn’t met Dean’s eyes.

If they were going to keep Cas alive, if they were going to get him cured and back to his normal self, Sam couldn’t keep indulging his pride. Couldn’t keep trying to let it remain polished and undamaged. Dean had always been good with kids. Always knew how to take care of them. How to comfort them. The kids they met on hunts, as witnesses, or kin of the victims, Dean could speak to them on a level no one else seemed capable of, and he got vital information from them that led to the case’s resolution--information not even the most well trained cops and social workers could wheedle out of them.

Sam wasn’t an idiot. But neither was Dean. Dean was not an idiot. If there was one thing Dean knew, it was babies.

Which made sense. Because Dean had taken care of Sam all his life.

Sam swallowed again and kept staring at Cas. The bottle was half way done now.

.  
.  
.

After the failed spell and the bottle fiasco, Sam was hesitant to say anything about anything. Especially since the witch had vanished again, after she was released from the prison. But he wanted to do right by Cas. And by Dean.

“It’s called co-sleeping,” Sam said, turning his laptop towards Dean. He had bags under his eyes, and Sam figured he probably looked about the same--these last few days had been busy and hard and disappointing, leaving little room for proper rest. “Sleeping in the same bed. It’s healthier and helps you two bond.”

Dean rolled his eyes and continued with his pacing, jostling Cas up and down rhythmically. “I’m wiping his ass five times a day,” he said, steadily, despite the annoyance that was painted all over his face. “I’d say we’re pretty damn bonded.”

“Look, this is weird. I’m not arguing against that, okay? But right now, he’s not our Cas. Not really. He’s got the mind of a baby, the needs of a baby--” Dean rolled his eyes again, but Sam ignored it “--you can’t keep treating him like our Cas. The full grown Cas. All hands-off, too scared to get close. It’s not fair to him right now.”

“Sam,” Dean closed his eyes and tilted his neck all the way back. “Do we have to do this? I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in three days. A few hours ago, I was wearing horse shit. And, diapered or not, he is still our Cas. In a little while, this is all gonna be over--we’re gonna get him fixed right up and then we can pretend none of this ever happened, pretend I haven’t seen more of his bare ass in just the last three days than I’ve seen in porn.”

“TMI, dude.”

“Look, I’m taking care of him as best as I can.”

“I know,” Sam said seriously. “You’re doing a great job.”

“Great. Glad we agree. What’s wrong with him sleeping in the crib? You slept in the crib till you were almost three.”

“It’s about the bonding.”

Dean exhaled through his nose. “Like I said. We’re bonded pretty tight right now. Besides, I’m not gonna put him in the bed and risk hurting him. What if he just rolls right off? Smacks his head against the nightstand? Cracks it on the floor? I mean--I could roll right on top of him and smother him.”

Sam frowned sympathetically. “You wouldn’t do that. You’re too careful around him.”

But Dean was walking away, towards the crib. He slowly detached Cas from his shoulder and laid him down into the crib. He pulled Cas’s fingers out of his mouth and gave him the pacifier instead. Dean turned towards Sam and rubbed his face.

“Turn that thing off,” he gestured towards Sam’s computer. “It’s late--actually, I guess it’s early,” Dean said, and Sam realized it was nearly sunrise; he suddenly yawned. Dean continued, “and we gotta get an early start tomorrow. Elphaba’s gotta be around somewhere and I am not going after her without a good night’s sleep.”

Dean crawled under the covers and laid on his side facing Cas.

Sam sighed and closed his laptop. He laid on his bed and turned off the light.

“Good night, Dean,” he said.

Dean just huffed in response.  
.  
.  
.

 

Sam woke up with a crick in his neck and an intense urge to pee. He opened his eyes blearily, the red squiggles of the alarm clock slowly focusing: It was past nine in the morning. The sun was already well into the sky, shining directly into Sam’s eyes. He sighed and laid there for a minute longer, until he couldn’t ignore the pressure in his bladder and lamented the fact that he was getting older. He got up and winced as his back cracked.

He went to the bathroom and did his business. After he washed his hands, he splashed water on his face. He had dark circles under his eyes and thick stubble stuck to his cheeks. He’d never been so exhausted before. He spent so many nights without sleep to catch the monster, or to do research, but these last few weeks with Cas had taken something out of him Sam didn’t know he had. He hadn’t even been doing the majority of the work--Dean took nearly all of it upin himself: Getting up every few hours to change diapers, or for feedings, or to rub something on his aching gums. It was never ending. There was always something Cas needed. And watching Dean do it all exhausted Sam. It made Sam think about Dean. Dean took care of him like this while he was still just a child himself.

Sam turned the water off. Thinking about all that Dean did for him as a child made his stomach twist into hot, heavy knots. He turned the light off before he left the bathroom and quietly padded back to bed, desperate to catch even just another half hour more of sleep. But he stopped briefly and stared at the crib. He hadn’t heard Cas cry at all since before bed.

The crib was empty.

Panic blossomed in Sam’s chest, ready to rip at his throat, but it died down in an instant when he turned to scream at Dean and saw--

Saw Dean on his back, mouth open and snoring obnoxiously, and Cas on his chest. Dean had one arm wrapped loosely over Cas, securing him in place, and Cas slowly rose and fell with Dean’s breathing. Cas had two fingers stuck into his mouth. His hair was sticking up in all directions, like he’d been given an electric shock. He looked the most peaceful he’d been since this whole fiasco started.

Probably more peaceful than Sam had ever seen him, actually.

After taking the image in, Sam sighed and smiled. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand, and making sure the flash was off, snapped a couple of photos for blackmail later; but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit that they were adorable like that.

Sam crawled back under the covers of his bed and faced Dean and Cas. He was never going to let Dean live this down.

 

  
.  
.  
.

Dean re-adjusted Cas in the car seat as they settled into the booth. The waitress smiled at Cas and waved her fingers and Cas just stared at her with wide, unblinking eyes.

“Your son is so cute,” she said, grinning, bouncing on her heels and clicking her pen.

“Thanks,” Dean said nonchalantly, tightening the straps. He didn’t even look at the waitress, baffling Sam. She was exactly Dean’s type--curly blonde hair, curves in the right places. Any other day, Dean would already be asking for her phone number, nearly getting them kicked out. Dean didn’t pay her any attention. “Damn it, Sam, he keeps slipping outta these! What, did you bathe him in butter?”

“Maybe you’re just not putting them on right.”

“Maybe you’re just not putting them on right,” Dean said mockingly. “I know how to work a damn car seat. I may not have gone to college, but I’m not an idiot.”

The waitress stared at them awkwardly. Sam cleared his throat and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry,” he said. “Brothers, y’know?”

She nodded, like everything made complete, total sense. “Yeah, I got six of ‘em. Ready to order?”

Dean ordered some kind of breakfast scramble and Sam settled for a fruit salad with Greek yogurt.

After she was out of earshot, Sam turned to Dean. “Chill out, dude. You’re attracting the wrong kind of attention.”

Dean finally seemed satisfied with the straps. He waved a finger in Cas’s face. “You slip outta those again, I’m gonna sell you to the circus. Take whatever they offer me and drive off. Hell, right now I’d sell you for a bucket of peanuts. Capiche?”

Sam rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone to search the news, but he was only half paying attention. The headlines were nothing but celebrity gossip. “What’s the plan then? Go back to the bunker and wait?”

“Don’t go much choice, far as I can tell. We hit the books again, see if there’s something we missed. In the meantime, we keep trying to put feelers out there with other hunters. I mean, she’s not subtle. Crop circles? DUIs? That’s amateur work. She has to have caught someone else’s attention by now, and somebody, somewhere out there has to be able to help.”

With each passing day, Sam was starting to become less and less sure about that. He wouldn’t voice these concerns to Dean--not yet, at least--but it seemed more likely that Cas was stuck like this. And if that were true. . .

If that were true, they’d have to figure out what they were going to do. The lives they led, they couldn’t take care of a baby. It was too dangerous. Monsters around literally every corner. And they didn’t have the resources--they couldn’t take Cas on hunts with them, but Dean wouldn’t hear of leaving Cas with anyone else, not even Jody. Meanwhile, Sam couldn’t stop thinking about worst case scenarios. What if they got hurt on a hunt? What if they didn’t come back? What would happen to Cas then? It was unfair to Cas.

Maybe this was Cas’s chance. His chance to escape, and have a normal, human life.

The thought was too painful to entertain. Sam shoved it far down and tried to lock it away. Prayed it wouldn’t come to that. Prayed they could figure it out; find the witch again, not let her out of their sight until she fixed this. Cas was his best friend. The only person besides Dean he trusted his life with, knew he could totally and completely depend on.

But with that, Sam also knew, if push came to shove, he had to do what was best for Cas.

He swallowed and tried not to think about it.

Dean pulled out a bottle of formula from the diaper bag. “Quit it with those eyes, I got ya,” he said. He held the bottle with one hand and looked through his phone with the other, scrolling past news sites and emails.

Sam still couldn’t get the image from earlier out of his mind: Dean and Cas cuddling. Even with Cas in his current state, that Dean would push away his grumpy machismo was a foreign concept to Sam, especially after how much Dean fought the co-sleeping concept earlier. Sam knew Dean could be soft and gentle, especially with the kids they worked with on cases, but last night--that had been something inconceivable to Sam. He couldn’t think of a time when he’d seen Dean so affectionate.

After Sam took the pictures, he went back to bed for a little more sleep. Dean had woken him at nine by throwing a pillow at him, already dressed and readying Cas into the car seat. He thought he’d gotten away with it, and Sam wasn’t sure if he should break the news to Dean.

He’d looked at the photos at least ten times since this morning.

They were really cute.

The waitress came back with their food just a few moments later. Dean continued to use one hand to feed Cas and used the other to feed himself. He didn’t seem to struggle at all with the balance.

“What?” Dean said. “Stop staring.”

“Sorry,” Sam said, shaking his head. “Was just thinking.”

 

“First time for everything,” Dean snorted, shoving another forkful of eggs and hashbrowns into his gullet.

Sam rolled his eyes. “You sure about this bunker plan?”

“Don’t really got any other options, Sam. We can’t go hunting with him like this. We don’t have new leads on the witch. And I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer to get him turned back to normal ASAP.”

Sam swallowed.

“Oh no,” Dean said, shaking his head. “Don’t you dare. I--I don’t want to hear it.”

“Just--just consider it, Dean. We can leave him at Jody’s! He’ll be safe there. There’ll be all kinds of people that can look after him, Claire and Alex and even Donna. And--and maybe we start looking for Rowena, or any witch. We can even call Crowley, see what he knows.”

“I’m not dumping him.”

“It’s not--” Sam paused, swallowed. He lowered his voice and leaned across the table. “It’s not dumping him. It’s protecting him.”

“I can protect him just fine,” Dean snapped, stabbing his fork into a bite of hashbrown, breaking them apart.

“What about hunting?” Sam couldn’t forget the fact that good people were out there dying every day at the hands of monsters: vampires and werewolves and vengeful spirits and so much more. Monsters didn’t stop just because they did.

“What about it? We’ve got bigger fish to fry, Sherlock.”

“Dean,” Sam sighed.

“Drop it, Sam. It’s not happening. End of discussion. Eat your damn rabbit food.”

Sam inhaled then exhaled. He stared at his breakfast and took a bite, but could barely taste it over the the bad feeling in his stomach. Cas finished the bottle and Dean wiped his face with a napkin, grumbling under his breath about messes and witches.

Sam avoided Dean’s eyes for the rest of the meal.

.  
.  
.

After brunch, they started the trip back to the bunker. With no leads on the witch whatsoever they didn’t have much of a choice. They couldn’t just go parading around the entire country--they didn’t have that kind of time, or the resources.

“You better appreciate what I’m doing for you,” Dean said, glancing in the rearview mirror.

“It’s just a minivan,” Sam said. “You’re acting like it’s personally offended you.”

“It has. With its existence. Like a liger--an abomination against nature.”

“You know--”

“Yeah, yeah. ‘The Impala isn’t safe. There’s no latch system. There’s no airbags.’ I get it. Doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.”

“Uh huh,” Sam said, smiling. “That why you have the heated seats on?”

“Shut up,” Dean snapped.

.  
.  
.

Cas had been an infant for several weeks and Sam started thinking.

“We should take him to a pediatrician,” he said the day after they got back to the bunker. Cas was on a blanket by the library tables, trying to put his foot in his mouth.

“What for? He’s not sick.” Dean was already on his third cup of coffee for the morning, browsing website after website, searching for anything he could find on witches or de-aging spells. He still refused to call Crowley or Rowena, adamant they could figure it out themselves, as long as they kept working. Sam was looking at news reports all over the country for anything that reeked of their witch. They both had bupkis so far.

“If he’s gonna be stuck like this for awhile, we need to take precautions. He needs to get his vaccines.”

“We got him all that when he first turned human.”

“Yeah, but what if they got reset? I mean, the rest of him did, basically. We can’t take that risk. God, he could get measles. Or polio.” The list went through Sam’s mind, longer and deadlier the more seconds ticked by. The bunker had been built in the early twentieth century--who knew what kind of germs and diseases were still there, resting, waiting, in the cracks in the concrete, or the wall. They could have smallpox.

“He’s not gonna be like this much longer. We shouldn’t need to worry about that stuff. Besides, how is that even gonna work logistically? Baby him has no paperwork.”

Sam glared and looked offended. “I did all his stuff the first time. Give me a day or two and I can get him new papers that match his babyness.”

“Whatever,” Dean said. “You can take him if you’re so worried about it. I’m not gonna sit there and watch some asshat in a lab coat stick him thirty times.”

The glare melted off Sam’s face. Something in his chest loosened.

“What?”

“I think it’s sweet.”

“Speak English?”

“That you care so much. You don’t want to see him get hurt.”

Dean looked at Cas. Sam glanced that way, too, and huffed in humor when he saw that Cas had succeeded in getting one toe into his mouth. Sam briefly hoped he’d been bathed recently.

“He’s my best friend,” Dean eventually said. “Of course I don’t want to see him get hurt.”

“He can’t protect himself right now. He’s entirely dependent on us to keep him safe. And that doesn’t just mean from monsters. It means all the human things, too; all the things that are dangers to babies, like car crashes and getting sick.”

Dean kept staring at Cas. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “You’re right,” he said, swallowing. “We’ve got no leads. Probably gonna be some time before the witch comes back out of the shadows. Does something stupid. Can’t risk it.”

“I’ll take him,” Sam said. “You don’t have to be there.”

“I should be there. I need to be there. You know he doesn’t like strangers. And no offense, Sam, but I’ve gotta make sure the doctor isn’t an asshat.”

Sam smirked. “While we’re there we also need to get flu shots.”

Dean’s face drained of color. “Like hell I do.”

“Come on, Dean. He’s too little for the flu shot--that’s part of us protecting him, remember?”

“I’ve never had a flu shot in my life. I intend to keep it that way.”

Sam blanched. “You’ve never had a flu shot?”

Dean frowned and took a sip of his coffee. He grimaced, probably because it had gone cold, and all the sugar coagulated at the bottom. “What, you get your flu shot?”

Sam stared at Dean in horror and recalled all the close quarters they shared, all the time spent together, practically in each other’s pockets. “CVS does them for twenty bucks, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll get the shot. But only cause he needs me to.” Dean leaned over the table and glared at Cas. “You better appreciate everything I’m doing for you.”

Cas giggled.

.  
.  
.

It had taken Sam just a day to make enough fake paperwork for Cas to get his shots. Dean pouted the entire time he packed the diaper bag. The closest big hospital was in Hastings, Nebraska, so Dean packed extras of everything.

“It’ll be fine,” Sam said, carrying Cas in his car seat. He had dressed Cas this morning in a red onesie with a racecar on it. “We’ve been over this. He needs the vaccines.”

Dean fumbled with the zipper. “Are you sure?”

Sam groaned and rolled his eyes.

“I’m being serious, Sam! I was up late last night reading all about it. Did you know they put mercury in there--”

“Oh my god, no. Do I need to smack you?” Sam looked for something solid enough to hit Dean with. The bottle of whiskey looked pretty tempting.

“I’m just saying--”

“Well, stop, ‘just saying’. Vaccines are good for everyone. And you’re still getting your flu shot.”

Dean sputtered, then whatever argument was on his lips died. He growled and made his way up the stairs.

.  
.  
.

Dean was jittery the in the waiting room. He took Cas out of the car seat and sat him on his knees, bouncing the entire time.

“Would you stop that?” Sam hissed.

“Leave me alone,” Dean snapped, pulling at his shirt collar. “I hate hospitals.”

Toddlers waddled around the little play area, screeching and sobbing. One raced passed Dean with snot running down her face and Dean visibly recoiled.

“See, being here is what’s gonna make him sick,” Dean said, pulling Cas close to his chest. “This place has gotta be ground zero for killer diseases. If you don’t wanna get eaten by a shark, you stay out of the ocean; if you don’t want to get sick, you stay out of the hospital.”

Sam ignored Dean, a skill he had masterfully developed over his lifetime, to check email.

The doctor called them back a few minutes later and Dean walked like a man towards the gallows.

.  
.  
.

Cas didn’t even flinch when he got his shots; Sam was impressed with the lack of reaction, and wondered if there was some of the old Cas still in there after all, the Cas that took any amount of pain with stoicism. Dean on the other hand...

He was pissed off the entire time, and he kept rolling his shoulder dramatically after he got his flu shot.

“If I actually get sick, I’m gonna rub my pukey face all over your pillow,” he said.

“You do that, I’m going to murder you,” Sam said.

Dean scoffed.

“Seriously, Dean. You’re being a bigger baby than the baby.” Dean flipped Sam off then continued to drive in tense silence for several moments. Sam had finally began to relax, thinking this was almost going to be over, when Dean pulled the van suddenly into a subdivision. He took the turn so quickly, Sam slammed into the door.

“Dean, what the hell?”

“There’s a yard sale down here.”

“So?”

“So?” Dean raised his eyebrows in offense. “Maybe they got cool shit. People are always selling cool shit at yard sales. CDs, movies, baby clothes.” Dean glanced at the rear view mirror briefly.

“You’re turning into a soccer mom.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Worth checking out at least. Anyway, I’m driver, and you know the rules.”

Sam sighed. Once Dean got an idea in his head, there was no talking him out of it. He would just have to sit quietly and suck it up.

Dean followed the signs until they got to the house. There was a line of cars parked on the side of the road--a fire marshall’s nightmare in Sam’s opinion. Dean parked far away from the others and immediately began unloading Cas out of the car. He took Cas out of the car seat and held him high.

Sam followed behind, searching on his phone for anything interesting. Twitter was full of the usual bullshit and there was nothing on either local or national news that screamed of their witch.

There were dozens of tables filled to the top with crap. Old, dusty clothes that made Sam’s nose wrinkle, VHS tapes, a mountain of books. Sam browsed the books, but they were all dime store romance novels with Herculean men without shirts and younger, busty women in skimpy outfits. The taglines alone were enough to make Sam nauseous. LOVE IS MORE THAN JUST SKIN DEEP was the one for a Beauty and the Beast type of story.

Sam put the book down. He’d stick to actual book stores to get his fix, and would instead avoid buying some old lady’s worn out porn collection. He saw enough of that shit from what Dean left lying around.

He had to push around people to get through. The place was packed. Everyone in the neighborhood seemed interested in something the old lady was selling, even the old pots and pans, and a shower curtain that Sam was pretty sure had black mold on the edges.

He eventually caught sight of Dean all the way on the other side of the yard. He was arguing with someone.

“You done yet?” Sam asked once he got close enough.

“Shut up, Sam, I’m in the middle of a deal,” Dean snapped, without even turning to face Sam. He kept a finger in Sam’s face. Sam rolled his eyes. “C’mon, eighty-five. That’s way high and you know it. You won’t get a better offer.”

“This is an antique,” an old man said.

Sam peered around Dean. There was a rocking chair between Dean and the man. It was a dark brown color with doves etched into the top, sharing an olive branch between their beaks. Sam wondered if there was a chance the thing was haunted--for all they knew, the old lady had died sitting in it.

“And?” Dean said. “Look, you’re selling everything else for less than a buck or so. How many people have even looked at this thing?”

The old man chewed on his lip. He looked at the chair, then looked at Cas. “Hundred, even,” the man said.

“Deal,” Dean said. He rearranged Cas to hold him with one arm while he shook the old man’s hand. Dean turned to Sam and held Cas out. “Here, take him.”

“Wait, what?” Sam said, but Dean was already handing Cas over and Sam had an armful of baby before he knew what was happening. Sam had to quickly adjust Cas’s weight in his arms.

“I need to get the spare cash from the car, wait here a sec.”

“Dean, what do you even need it for?” It was nice to look at it, but even from here Sam could see scratches in the wood, deep and jagged, like monster claw marks. It was also in desperate need of a good dust and polish. Probably a paint job too. Sam didn’t believe what the guy said; it was a piece of junk, not an antique, and he had no clue why Dean was so interested in it. Besides, where were they even going to put it? The bunker was full of all sorts of old, dusty crap--they did not need to be adding to any sort of collection.

Dean looked at Sam like he was stupid. “For Cas,” he said like that explained everything. Dean looked back to the old man. “Two minutes,” he said and then he was gone.

Sam opened his mouth, but Dean took off running, already out of earshot. Sam exhaled.

“Trouble in paradise?” The old man said with a twisted grin.

Sam glared. “He’s my brother,” he snapped.

The man at least had the decency to look ashamed. He looked back at Cas. “No mom? Damn shame. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks,” Sam said with a bite. Dean was already coming back with the cash in hand.

“There,” he said, counting the bills out. “One hundred.”

The man took the money and then Dean was picking up the chair. “Pleasure doing business,” the man said.

Dean carried the chair all the way back to the minivan. He had to put the third row down to get the chair to fit, all done by pressing a single button. “This thing isn’t so bad after all,” Dean said. “Tell anyone I said that and I’ll kill you.”

“Whatever,” Sam said, buckling Cas into the car seat. “Damn it, he loosened these things again.”

“He’s a slippery bastard,” Dean said, slamming the trunk closed. “I think it’s where he gets his joy. Pull ‘em extra tight.”

Cas grinned sloppily. Several sharp, tiny teeth were visible above his gums. Sam grinned back.

.  
.  
.

It started two days later. Cas was fussy all morning, batting away the bottle Dean prepared. Dean gave up after five frustrating minutes with an aggravated “Fine, starve then!” as he slammed the bottle down on the table.

“You okay?” Sam asked, frowning. Dean usually was incredibly patient with baby Cas; Sam hadn’t seen Dean get upset with him ever.

“Fine,” Dean sighed. He rubbed his face with one hand. “Little dude was up half the night. Couldn’t get him to go back to sleep no matter what I did. Not even the rocking chair would make him quiet and relaxed.”

“Maybe he’s sick of your snoring.”

Dean wrinkled his face and stuck out his tongue. “Maybe he’s sick of your face.”

“Nice one, Dean.” Sam rolled his eyes. He spent an unusual amount of his time questioning how it was that Dean was the older brother. Dean could give a first grader a run for their money in a battle of stubborness.

Cas started crying again--not loud, ear-splitting cries, but soft, breathy ones. Almost like he couldn’t get enough air. Dean groaned. He stood up and patted Cas’s back and began to walk in circles. Dean blew raspberries against Cas’s ears.

Sam couldn’t help but look up from his work. He watched, confused and unsure of what exactly was happening.

“He usually loves this,” Dean said, despondent. “Loses his goddamn mind.” Dean shook his head. “Can’t believe I’ve spent ten years trying to get this guy to crack a smile, or break his one facial expression, and all you gotta do is make fart noises.” Dean turned around and looked at Sam. “Maybe it is just a baby thing. You were the same way.”

“Sure I was.” Sam tried to focus back on his work, but Dean made the task impossible; his footsteps were heavy, he continued to make raspberry noises, and that added with Cas’s soft crying made the environment distracting.

Dean grabbed the bottle and made another attempt to feed Cas, but Cas moved his head out of the way. He squirmed and fussed and made all sorts of noise--this was the most Cas had acted up since the spell hit.

Dean frowned and put the bottle back on the table. He stuck his pinky finger in Cas’s ear.

“Dean,” Sam chastised, turning his head away. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “What the hell?”

Dean’s face paled. “He’s sick. Told you taking him to a hospital was a bad idea,” he said.

Sam couldn’t find anything to say in his defense. He just stared miserably at Cas, eyes wide and face screwed up in pain. Cas probably did catch the bug at the hospital, but they couldn’t risk letting him get sick with something worse.

Still, it hurt Sam to see Cas in pain. And it hurt Sam to see Dean suffering.

“It’s just a little fever, right?” Sam asked, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Dean glared at Sam over Cas’s shoulder. “He hasn’t pooped all day.”

“Jesus, Dean.” Sam scowled and his disgust marred his face. “I don’t want to know that!”

Dean huffed. “It’s not a good thing.”

“Well, when was the last time he ate?”

“Late last night,” Dean said. “When I fed him this morning, he wouldn’t eat.” Dean sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose and pushed past Sam and headed towards his bedroom. Sam rolled his eyes and followed Dean.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m going to put him down for a nap,” Dean said. “Maybe he can sleep it off.” Dean’s frown, though, unveiled all his thoughts. He didn’t believe it, either. But Dean wasn’t one to give up; he went into the bedroom and Sam waited by the threshold.

The crib was right next to Dean’s bed, and the rocking chair was shoved into the corner beside Dean’s desk. Dean laid Cas down into the crib, gently, and stretched his back. He stared down at the crib.

They did this a lot. Stare at each other. And they stared at each other like there was no else in the room, even if there were. More than once, they acted like Sam had entirely disappeared, or had never been there in the first place, and Sam never knew what to make of it. At first, it was easy to pass it off as just mutual curiosity: Cas was mesmerized by humans, and Dean was the first human he’d ever been in contact with. And Cas was an angel, an alien figure, something that Dean thought didn’t exist. So of course they’d be inquisitive about each other. They’d be on edge, cautious, studious.

But it never stopped. Years later, they still looked at each other like that, even though they’d got past that uneasy stage; even though they were good friends, trusted in each other, stood up for one another.

And they still stared at each other like they were a mystery to unravel. Like they were having a conversation with just their eyes. Like they were the only two people in the universe.

Sam just couldn’t figure it out.

.  
.  
.

Cas’s face was flushed and sweaty, hair glued to his forehead, eyes barely cracked open, hands fisted into Dean’s shirt. Dean held him close and paced back and forth across the room, murmuring in his ear words Sam’s couldn’t make out. The dark circles under Dean’s eyes were prominent, almost bruise-like, and Dean wasn’t able to mask the worry on his face; it was rooted in the frown lines and crows’ feet, in the pallor.

“He eat anything yet?” Sam asked, sticking his hands in his pockets. He gnawed on his lip and his shoulders drooped as Dean shook his head.

“Nothing he’s been able to keep down,” Dean whispered, patting Cas’s back. “Fever won’t break, either.”

“Should we take him to the hospital?”

“I can take care of him,” Dean snapped.

“But it said online--”

“I know what it said online,” Dean interrupted. His hold on Cas seemed to tighten, fingers curled protectively over Cas. He shifted, angling Cas farther away from Sam. “I know what everyone online has ever said! But you know what? I nursed you and Dad through more than one fever. I can handle this.”

Sam swallowed. He started to say something, but the words died at the back of his throat, and all that came out instead was a guttural sound. Dean closed his eyes and kept murmuring something in Cas’s ears. Cas moved fitfully in Dean’s arms, weak, raspy breaths reaching out his throat.

“Okay,” Dean said, in that tone of voice he used when he was dead set on something. “I’m gonna start a cool bath. Sam, get some more Tylenol ready.”

Dean pushed past Sam to head towards the bathroom. Sam watched Dean take the corner then obeyed, going to the kitchen’s medicine cabinet. Sam wasn’t quite sure when Dean had picked up baby Tylenol, but he was thankful they didn’t need to make any 2 a.m. runs to get it. He filled the syringe up and headed down to the bathroom where he could hear the water running. Sam entered cautiously, eyes averted.

Dean had stripped down to his boxers and was in the shower stall with Cas, buck naked and against Dean’s chest.

“Uh, here,” Sam said, sticking his hand into the stall. He flinched at the freezing water that assaulted him like tiny bullets.

“Thanks,” Dean said, taking it. “C’mon, buddy,” he said to Cas, managing to slip the syringe past Cas’s lips.

Sam stood there for a few painfully awkward moments. Dean’s hair stuck to his face.

“What else do you need?” Sam asked softly.

Dean looked him with misery in his eyes. “I don’t know,” he said.

They stood there for almost an hour, until Dean and Cas’s skin had long gone clammy. Sam passed him a towel and Dean wrapped Cas up before handing him to Sam. Sam took Cas while Dean dried off and changed into dry clothes and then Dean took him right back, heading off to his room.

Sam had accepted the fact that he had crossed the creeper line long ago. He thought of all the ways he could justify it to himself, but when none of them held up, he just gave up. He latched onto the fact that it couldn’t be that creepy because Dean knew about the baby monitor, knew the receiver was there in the library, and if it really bothered him, he would’ve done something about it.

Sam still felt like he was intruding. Dean sat in the rocking chair and gently moved back and forth while he kept murmuring to Cas. Dean was whispering, so it was difficult to make out, but it sounded like he was singing.

Sam watched for a long, uncomfortable time. Long enough that something tingled under his skin.

He fell asleep at the table. He woke up some hours later to the sounds of Dean coming down the hallway and Sam had enough sense to wipe the drool away and stand up, acting like he hadn’t been spying on them most of the night.

Dean still looked exhausted, but his eyes were a bit lighter.

“How is he?” Sam asked cautiously. Dean smiled softly.

“Fever’s broke,” he said. He walked over to the little play area they made for Cas and set Cas down on it. Cas did look better. His face wasn’t as flushed and he seemed more relaxed. “Ate a little this morning.”

“That’s great!” Sam said.

Dean made a non-committal sound. “We’ll need to keep an eye on him. Make sure he stays that way.” Dean headed to the kitchen and made a bowl of dry cereal. He came back and sat down by Cas as he ate, picking through his cornflakes with the enthusiasm of a an impotent turtle.

“I think it’s time we call Rowena,” Dean said.

Sam did a double take. “You sure?”

Dean looked down at Cas. “I’m sure.”

.  
.  
.

Sam felt like a creeper. He didn’t want to be. It wasn’t his intention to be creepy. He promised himself he’d stop this, but it was like a drug. He knew it was bad for him, knew it was bad for those around him, but he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t put it down, couldn’t look away.

It was just. . . It was weird seeing Dean like this. So soft, especially around Cas. Usually Dean and Cas were butting heads over one stupid thing or another--neither of them were experts at gentleness, or softness. They dug their heels in their stubborness and dragged and dragged and dragged, neither relenting, neither willing to just suck it up, to get off the carousel of anger they’d been strapped into.

Until now at least.

Seeing Dean behaving like that now was alien.

The baby monitor was in black and white, but the image was perfectly clear. Dean sat in the rocking chair. One foot was propped up on the bed and he used it to rock, with Cas cradled in his arms. Dean’s mouth was moving--he was probably singing.

Sam smiled wryly and felt bad for Cas. Dean was a terrible singer.

He thought Dean was being ridiculous about the rocking chair, but now that he was a witness to the image, he was glad Dean got it. It was so sweet; sweeter than the pictures Sam had taken of Cas sleeping on Dean’s chest.

Then Sam wondered how Dean would take it when they got Cas changed back. If they got him changed back. Of course it was what needed to happen. What they wanted to happen. Cas was family, and they would take care of him any way he needed, but Baby Cas wasn’t their Cas. Baby Cas wasn’t the Cas who had turned on Heaven for them, protected them to his dying breath. Baby Cas wasn’t the Cas who sat with them for movie nights, wasn’t the Cas who could speak every language ever. Baby Cas was a stranger.

But Baby Cas also had wormed his way into Dean’s heart, fast and furious. Dean looked at Baby Cas with nothing but warm affection and adoration. He’d been treating Cas like Cas was his own son.

When they got Cas turned back, would Dean take it well? What would Dean do when Cas didn’t need Dean like he did now?

Sam decided thinking about those things did him no good. They’d cross that bridge when they got to it. They still needed to get Cas turned back anyway.

For now, Sam was content with watching Dean and Cas over their monitor. Cas was obviously asleep, curled towards Dean’s chest. Dean kept rocking and singing.

.  
.  
.

 

Sam made the call that night, and the next afternoon, Rowena appeared. She walked dramatically down the metal staircase, her long black dress trailing behind her like a wedding train, a white shawl wrapped around her shoulders like a cape and oversized gold earrings dangling just above her shoulders. She carried a large bag with all sorts of strange symbols painted on the sides in a suspicious red ink.

“Well, Samuel,” she said loudly, “here I am! “ she shoved her oversized bag towards Sam chest. Sam oofed as he took it, grimacing. The thing had to weigh close to fifty pounds. Rowena dusted her hands off and raised her chin up high. “Now, what’s the dire emergency?”

Dean swallowed and motioned with his head towards Cas.

Rowena narrowed her eyes for a moment, then understanding swallowed them. She squealed. Squealed like a teenage girl at a Harry Styles concert.

“Oh my god, is that the handsome angel? I’d know those eyes anywhere!”

“A witch’s spell got him,” Dean explained, licking his lips nervously. “We’ve tried everything we have in our arsenal, researched everything we’ve got, and well… we’re desperate. Please, can you change him back?”

Rowena looked Dean up and down. “ Let me have him.” Rowena snatched Cas straight out of Dean’s arms and spun around with him. Cas laughed easily, eyes wide and carefree.

Dean clenched his teeth. Sam dropped Rowena’s bag by the library table and rolled his shoulders. He stood next to Dean.

“Look at the little cutie wootie pie,” Rowena said in a high-pitched voice, rubbing her nose against Cas’s. “I didn’t think it was possible for him to get any cuter. What a sweet little tyke! Aye, you’re much cuter than Fergus was as a lad. You’ve got a full head of hair.” Cas reached for Rowena’s long, dangling earrings that sparkled in the light, but she gently batted his hand away. Cas reached out again, undeterred.

“All right, that’s enough,” Dean said, reaching towards Cas, but Rowena spun around and walked in the opposite direction.

“Why in the name of Heaven and Hell would you want to change him back? He’s just so scrumptious like this, yes he is, yes he is. Look at that smile--never seen the grown up angel smile like that. Now, that’s a smile you’d never tire of, ain’t it?”

Bile burned at Sam’s throat. Dean’s face was flushed with rage. Cas gave up on Rowena’s earrings and was now focused on her hair, tugging gently on her long, red curls. Rowena didn’t even seem to notice--she kept giggling and bouncing Cas in her arms. Cas kept smiling.

“Stop traumatizing him,” Dean snapped. “Can you turn him back or not?”

Rowena cradled Cas in her arms and booped his nose, grinning from ear to ear. “Would if I could, sweetie, but I can’t.”

“You can’t?” Sam and Dean yelled.

“What the hell?” Dean snapped, clawing at his scalp. “I thought you were the most powerful witch in the world!”

“I am,” Rowena glared, a bite in her voice. She took her eyes off Cas and focused them on Dean, and they were two icy daggers pointed towards him. “But as you should know, dearie, not all magic is created equal and neither are the casters. This isn’t simply garden-variety magic, done from a kit you bought at the petrol station down the road! This is a powerful spell, affecting every cell in his body, every single atom. The witch that cast this spell is very talented, not an amateur. She knew what she was doing. She put a lock on it.”

“A lock?” Sam asked, lips curling over his teeth.

Rowena sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes up into her skull before shaking her head. “God, they’re morons aren’t they?” she asked Cas. Cas stared at her wide-eyed and fucking laughed again. Then she looked back to Sam. “Why don’t you clean your ears sometime while you’re preening that hair of yours! Yes, there’s a lock on this spell. It needs either the key, or to be undone by the original caster.”

“What would be the key?” Dean asked.

Rowena shrugged. “Haven’t got a clue. It could be something as simple as feeding him a spoon of mustard, or you might have to scale Kilimanjaro and find the bones of a man atop and grind ‘em down into dust and mix it in with your morning cup of tea. Could be anything. Or everything.” She ticked Cas’s feet. The giggle she pulled from Cas made Sam’s nerves fry.

“If you don’t want him, I’ll take him off your hands.” Her snow white teeth peeked out past her blood red lipstick. “Always wanted a son.”

“Give him to me,” Dean growled and snatched Cas from Rowena’s arms, twisting his body protectively around Cas. Rowena gasped and sneered, putting her hands on her hips. “We’ve seen just how good of a mother you are. Crowley’s more than enough proof for why that’s a bad idea.”

Rowena scoffed. “Ha! Maybe I’m not a bad mother. Maybe Fergus was a bad son.”

“So you can’t help us?” Sam snapped.

“I’ll babysit anytime you want,” Rowena said, bending down and waving her fingers at Cas. Cas waved back.

“Not happening,” Dean said, still shielding Cas with his body.

Sam then felt the need to step between Dean and Rowena. He used every inch of his height to try and intimidate her, and even put on his scary face, the one that cowed monsters from every corner of the world.

Rowena smirked and looked at him in amusement.

“Can you at least help us find the witch? Dean and I can make her undo the spell, but we need help finding her. She’s just---disappeared.”

Rowena laughed. “Ha! And what would be in it for me?”

“We don’t kill you,” Dean snapped.

Rowena faked a yawn. “You need to work on your threats, Dean. Always the same, worse than a broken record. Honestly, don’t you get tired of playing this same game? We both know you’re not gonna kill me.” Rowena batted her eyelashes. Even her mascara glistened against the bunker’s harsh lights.

“Oh yeah?” Sam huffed. “What makes you so sure?”

Rowena grinned. “You need me.”

“Yeah? Right now, you’re being as helpful as ice in a blizzard.”

Rowena’s face scrunched up. “Cute,” she said, grimacing. “Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But you know you need me. I’ve saved your hide more than once.”

“You’ve also set fire to it more than once,” Sam snapped. “Remember when you cursed him?” he nodded his head towards Cas.

Rowena winked. “Regardless,” she dusted off her dress, “You called me when you were in a baby pickle. I think that proves I’m too valuable an asset to lose.”

“Not as valuable as you think,” Dean said.

Rowena hummed sarcastically. “I can’t help you here anyway. You might have noticed that I’ve been a wee bit ostracized from other witches. Can’t find hide nor hair of them anywhere. I’ll keep an ear out because we’ve come to have a--symbiotic relationship, let’s call it. In the meantime, if this doesn’t pan out, well---I think Auntie Rowena’s got a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

Sam scoffed, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Not happening.”

Rowena twisted her neck and groaned like a monster. She reached down and picked up her bag. “Well, this has been fun, but unless you’ve got more for me, I’ll be off to bed. Was driving all night to get here.” She shuddered. “Fifteen hours in a hot tin car is not good for the complexion. You think this beauty just happens on its own? You need a sitter, you have my number. You’ll find my rates to be quite reasonable.” Then she headed towards the little hallway that led to the bedrooms.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Sam called out, strutting towards Rowena. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Well, I didn’t come all this way out here to turn right back! Don’t mind me, I know where the loo is!” She proceeded down the hallway and Sam stood there voiceless and stunned. Cas cooed and reached out towards her, but Dean twisted his body the opposite way. Sam and Dean followed Rowena with their eyes until she was out of their sight, her heels clacking against the concrete floor. It was impossible to relax. Dean still held himself tense, the cords of muscle in his neck popping out against his skin, veins popping out in his arms, his hold on Cas never loosening. Dean sighed and swallowed, pressing his forehead against the top of Cas’s head.

“That was a bust,” he growled.

“It was worth calling her,” Sam said, gnawing on his lip. “Maybe she’ll hear something through the witchy grapevine.”

Dean was quiet for a moment. Eventually, he pulled his head up from Cas’s and looked straight at Sam. “What are we going to do?”

Sam’s mind raced through all the possibilities; the dangers Cas was in. Again, the thought came to his mind: what if the spell was permanent? Rowena hadn’t eased Sam’s fears at all--she’d heightened them. She was one of their most powerful allies, magic at her fingertips strong enough to rival that of Lucifer. If even she didn’t know how to cure Cas--

They couldn’t keep going like this. Sooner or later, something was going to bite them in the ass. Sam had a moment of horror as a scene of Cas getting mauled by a vampire or a werewolf flashed through his mind. Something falling on top of Cas. A car crash. He could drown in the bathtub, could get tuberculosis--the list of horrors was endless and it scrolled through Sam’s head, over and over again.

Dean was still staring at him, waiting for an answer.

Sam licked his lips, mind stalling.

He wasn’t used to this--Dean needing him like this. Dean needing him for reassurance.

Sam could almost hear a clock ticking behind him, growing louder and louder with each second he remained silent.

“We don’t give up,” Sam said. Cas yawned and laid his head against Dean’s chest, eyelids fluttering closed. “We’ve beaten bigger baddies, fought against worse odds. There--there has to be something!”

Dean looked down at Cas softly, tenderly. In Dean’s eyes, it was a foreign expression; something Sam had seen Dean share with pie, but--

But that wasn’t true.

That wasn’t remotely true.

Sam’s mind reeled through nearly a decade’s worth of memories; every awkward moment he’d been stuck with Dean and Cas while they acted like they were the only two people in the world.

Sam felt he was inching closer towards a vast discovery; yet it was still frustratingly just out of reach. He was on his very tip toes, reaching his arms as high as he could, and still, the discovery was just an inch away.

“But where?” Dean asked, not taking his eyes off Cas.

Sam couldn’t respond.

 

.  
.  
.

Sam woke up to Rowena’s shrill voice and the sound of bacon popping in the fryer.

It took a few moments for him to scrounge up the will to leave bed and put on sweatpants. He wandered into the kitchen, bleary-eyed to see Rowena playing peek-a-boo with Cas while Dean cooked. The platypus doll laid on the eating tray.

“I thought he was handsome before what with that whole, strong, quiet demeanor of his,” Rowena said, “but he is just dashing now!” She covered her eyes and bounced on her heels, then yelled “Ah ha!” as she uncovered them. Cas giggled around his fingers.

“Don’t let him suck on those!” Dean said without turning around. “He’s gonna jack up his teeth!” He flipped the bacon.

“When are you leaving?” Sam growled, sitting down beside Cas.

“When I can sneak out the door with this wee little bugger,” she said, bopping Cas’s nose.

“Okay!” Dean shouted, pulling the bacon off the stove and whipping around. He walked over and took Cas out of the car seat, hoisting him up. Rowena pouted and crossed her arms.

“We were having fun,” she whined.

“And now you’re done,” Dean snapped. He snatched a piece of bacon off the plate and crunched it. Sam grimaced.

“Do you have to do that?” Sam asked.

Dean belched. “Shut up and eat,” he said, dropping the plate onto the table.

Sam rolled his eyes, but he did take a few pieces of bacon and readied some toast--Dean made the best bacon Sam had ever had. Dean made a big fuss when Rowena took some slices, but it was mostly posturing. Dean broke apart a slice of bacon into super tiny pieces and fed some to Cas.

“Dean, he’s too little!” Sam said.

“What’re those teeth for if he’s not gonna use them? It’s fine, Sam. I know what I’m doing.”

Sam opened his mouth to protest again, but then dutifully shut it. Dean was right. He did know what he was doing. Much more than Sam did.

.  
.  
.

“If you’re gonna stay here, you’re gonna work,” Dean said, throwing a large, dusty tome down in front of Rowena. She rolled her eyes and gasped in offense. She touched the book lightly with her fingertips, then shook her head in disgust. “Sorry lads, I can’t. I just got my nails done.”

“Shut up and work,” Dean snapped, and then he sat down and started feeding Cas.

Sam smiled in amusement at Rowena’s disgusted face. She even whined as she flipped through the pages, one by one, hardly touching them with her fingertips.

“I’ve already told you boys, there’s nothing I can do. This spell is just too complicated, too well done. You need to find the witch. Or you need to accept your new roles as parents.”

“I don’t have to accept jack,” Dean said, but there was no bite in his voice. He kept staring at Cas, watching him eat. “We’re gonna fix this. Fix him.”

Rowena rolled her eyes and sighed. “Denial’s not just a river in Egypt,” she muttered under her breath.

“Can it and read,” Sam said, gesturing for Rowena to look at the book. It was one Sam found in a store room that they hadn’t looked through before. It discussed unusual spells.

Sam looked through his own book, also recently discovered in a store room, but he found himself getting distracted by Dean and Cas. The way Dean cradled Cas easily. The way Cas just relaxed completely in Dean’s arms, worry free.

They sat in tense silence for a while, before Dean stood up to put Cas down for his nap.

Rowena watched them from the baby monitor and Sam couldn’t help but do the same. It was a bad habit, and he knew he was violating their privacy, but it was like an addiction. He couldn’t quit.

Rowena rested her chin in her hand and grinned. “They’re precious, aren’t they?”

Dean was rocking Cas in the rocking chair. Cas was curled towards Dean’s chest, fisting the platypus doll in one hand.

“That doll is hideous,” was all Sam could think to comment. Each day that passed, each day Cas remained a baby, was another day this figure of Dean was present; a figure Sam had a hard time associating with his big brother Dean.

It was a slap in the face. Surely Dean must have done all this for him, but Sam didn’t remember any of it. Sam wondered if he had been ungrateful to Dean all this time. He saw all the work Dean was doing now for Cas. All the work Dean had once done for Sam.

“What are you going to do if you don’t find the witch?” Rowena asked. “I’d trust Lizzie Borden with a baby before either of you. No offense, but you two should be the last people on Earth to raise a child. Completely unfit.”

Sam chewed his lips. He kept staring at the baby monitor, the easy way Dean rocked, eyes closed. “That’s not true,” he said. Dean wasn’t unfit. In fact, Sam couldn’t think of someone more fit to be a parent. Dean had a way with children Sam never saw replicated in anyone else.

It didn’t change the fact that they couldn’t care for a baby long term. Sam had been passing off cases to other hunters while they tried to find the cure for Cas, but he knew they couldn’t ignore them forever. There was work to be done.

And it didn’t change the fact that Sam missed Cas. The real Cas. He knew Dean did too. Because while Cas was his best friend, what Dean and Cas had--it was indescribable. If Sam was hurting, he couldn’t imagine the pain Dean had to be in. He and Cas--

Well, there was that profound bond, they had. Whatever that meant.

“You didn’t answer the question,” Rowena prodded. “If Castiel stays like this--if you can’t reverse it, what are you doing to do?”

Sam inhaled. “Shut up and read,” he said, putting the baby monitor screen down.

.  
.  
.

Dean came back into the library about half an hour later. He rubbed at his eyes.  
“Nothing?”

“No dice,” Sam said.

“Where’s Rowena?”

“Getting more beauty sleep,” Sam said, rolling his eyes.

“She sleeps more more than Cas does. Speaking of, I need coffee.” Dean slipped past Sam towards the kitchen and came back with a steaming mug. He sat down across from Sam and looked at the book Rowena had abandoned. He flipped it open right where Rowena had bookmarked it and they got to quiet work.

.  
.  
.

After losing a game of rock-paper-scissors, Sam made dinner while Dean went to fetch Cas from his crib.

Rowena came in, as dramatic as always. “What’s cooking?”

“Macaroni,” Sam said. Rowena rolled her eyes and groaned.

“All those carbs? It is after three, Samuel.”

“Then starve,” Dean said as he walked inside. Cas was still sleeping against Dean’s shoulder. Dean sat down.

“I should be off anyway,” Rowena said.

“What?” Sam and Dean said at the same time. Rowena grinned.

“Why?” Sam asked.

“You’ve got nothing in this sorry excuse of a library that’ll help your cause. And if you’re so set on getting get back to full sized, we can’t just sit around, going through the same dusty old tomes twenty times around. He’ll be going to his prom in no time at the rate you’re going at.” Rowena dusted off her dress. “I’ve got some resources of my own, though. Books you’d sell your souls to get ahold of. Might be there’s something in one of them.”

Sam swallowed, reluctant to let Rowena leave so easily--who’s to say she would do what she said? That she would come back?

Dean’s face darkened, though. He frowned deeply and sighed, bouncing Cas up and down.

“You better bring those books back down here,” he said, voice low and grave. “You don’t, we’ll track you down and fill you so full of witch bullets, your nickname will be Swiss Cheese.”

Rowena hummed and grinned, flashing her teeth. “Darling, I know you won’t be disappointed.”

.  
.  
Rowena left and they spent the rest of the night trying to take it easy. Dean put Cas to bed early and grabbed two bottles of beer out of the fridge. He passed one to Sam and twisted the cap off his slowly, taking a long, slow sip.

“Damn it,” he said, closing his eyes. “We gotta fix this up fast, Sam.”

“We will,” Sam said, nodding. “Like you said: we’ve faced bigger bads.”

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this, man. I’m too old for this shit.” For emphasis, Dean stretched, and Sam heard his back crack. He winced in sympathy.

Two days later, there is still nothing from Rowena, and Dean is so antsy in everything he does, he drives Sam nuts.

After Dean paced around the library for over an hour straight, Sam angrily shut the book he was reading, sighed and worried his lip. Dean looked at him over Cas’s head in annoyance.

“Why don’t we get some sunshine?” Sam suggested.

Dean and Sam sat down on the bench. It was an overcast day, but Sam didn’t think it was going to rain. It felt nice out; not too cool, not too hot. It was perfect weather. Dean set Cas’s car seat down by the bench and scrolled on the iPad through the library archives Sam had uploaded.

“God, there’s freakin’ everything in here but a spell for turning people back into adults. Look, here’s a cure for warts! And one for toe fungus. And a spell for saving your crops during times of immense drought! God, is there anything useful in that damn library?”

“Shut up,” Sam said, slapping Dean’s knee. “I worked hard archiving that damn thing.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Waste of time that was. Unless you want that spell for toe fungus. I mean, your feet have been smelling pretty rank lately--”

Sam slapped Dean’s knee again.

“Ow.”

“Wuss,” Sam said, scrolling through his laptop for any suspicious news stories. The witch had disappeared after Montana and seemed to have vanished for good. Sam worried his lip--he had the intense urge to start ripping his hair out.

He focused on his work. Dean was right--the change of scenery was nice. The bunker was home, but it was suffocating at times; being underground all the time wasn’t good for mental or physical health. It was nice to be reminded that there were places that existed besides the bunker. It was too easy to get bogged down in research, forget to go outside, explore the world they fought so hard to save every day of their lives. They’d have to make a habit of coming out here to do research.

Sam got engrossed in his research. He looked at news page after news page, back to the same routines--but when Dean suddenly yelled, he jumped out of his skin.

“Stop!” Dean screamed, and then he was on his feet, bolting. Sam’s head whipped up. Dean had already made good distance, but Sam could make out a man in front of him, something in his arms--

Sam’s heart dropped into his stomach.

No no no.

He jumped to his feet and raced towards the man too, swinging his arms like pendulums.

“You son of a bitch!” Dean yelled, ducking under tree branches and sliding around kids with practiced ease. Sam struggled a little, tripping over his own feet; one tree branch did whack him in the face, stunning him briefly, but his legs kept moving, feet pounding the ground underneath him, hard enough he kicked up dust and sand.

Dean was fast. In another life, he might’ve been an Olympic runner. Fatigue never seemed to get to him, and he moved around the elements like they didn’t exist. Sam was taller, and he ran five miles almost every single day, regardless of the weather, and still he struggled to keep up with Dean. He’d curse the unfairness of it all if the situation at hand wasn’t so dire.

The man in front of them took a sudden sharp turn, away from the playground and parking lot and towards the woods just over the hill in front of them.

The air started to burn at Sam’s lungs. Sweat beaded down his neck. This was like running from a monster; his adrenaline pounded at his temples, making his blood boil underneath his skin. They couldn’t stop, couldn’t slow down.

It was dark in the woods, despite the fact it was still early afternoon. The treetops covered most of the sky and it was chilly and damp. The trees were tall and thick, close together, and it was hard for Sam to maneuver through them. Dean though, was unfazed, moving agilely, still screaming profanities at the son of a bitch. Sam briefly caught Dean’s hand reaching for the gun holstered at his hip, but he hesitated, and Sam swallowed. Dean wouldn’t use it. The risk of hitting Cas was too great.

“I’m going to kill you,” Dean snarled, and then, in some kind of divine surge, his speed increased noticeably.

Then, out of nowhere, the man threw Cas’s car seat to his right, down a small, rocky hill.

Dean skidded to a halt, and, within less than a second, he turned on his heels and ran towards Cas. Sam kept going forward after the man, but he started to zigzag, going in between and under trees with an efficiency that let Sam know he was familiar with these woods. The further back into the woods they went, the thicker and closer together the trees got, the lower to the ground the branches crawled, and Sam just couldn’t duck and dodge underneath them and maintain his speed.

In less than two minutes, the man was gone. Sam panted, lungs burning. He listened closely, but couldn’t hear anything that would lead him to the man. Behind him, Dean called.

Sam reluctantly backed up and turned around, heading back towards Dean.

Dean climbed up the little hill, Cas in his arms; the car seat hung off his elbow.

“Is he okay?” Sam asked, racing towards Dean.

“Bit scratched up,” Deam murmured, pressing Cas’s head against his chest. “Fuck,” he said, lowering his head.

“I lost him,” Sam said, unable to hide the shame that crawled into his voice.

“Don’t care.”

Sam raised his eyebrow.

Dean shook his head. “Let’s--let’s just go home.”

Sam couldn’t disagree with that.

They had to sneak out of the woods to get to the car--frantic mothers who had seen the ordeal had called the police and Sam could hear the approaching sirens in the distance. Dean snuck off back to the car, while Sam grabbed their gear by the bench, and in less than two minutes, they were loaded up and on the road. Sam drove and they passed by the police cars on the way back home.

Neither he nor Dean said a word.

.  
.  
.

They didn’t talk when they got back to the bunker, either.

Dean went straight to his room, still clutching Cas close to his chest, as though if he held on long enough, hard enough, he could absorb Cas straight into his heart.

It made Sam think. A lot. He watched through the baby monitor. Dean sat on the rocking chair, Cas in his arms, head down and quiet.

And them, suddenly, out of the blue, the epiphany struck Sam like lightning. He wondered how he could have missed it all these years. He was a moron. The biggest moron on the entire fucking planet.

.  
.  
.

Dean didn’t come out of his room at all for the rest of the day, not even for dinner, and Sam eventually relented and went to bed. It kept him up all night.

Dean and Cas.

Cas and Dean.

Dean Winchester and Castiel.

Sam tossed and turned and wondered what the hell they were going to do.

.  
.  
.

At four a.m. Sam gave up on sleep when he heard Dean rustiling about in the bunker. He slipped out of the bed, barefoot, and followed the noises. Dean was in the library, sitting on the bench, Cas sleeping fitfully in his arms. Only one lamp was on, casting Dean’s face in shadows--but Sam could still make out the tear tracks on his face and his red-rimmed eyes.

Dean didn’t acknowledge his presence. Sam stood in the archway for a while, just watching, and wondered how he could have missed it all these years. It was like he’d been blind for so long, and finally was granted the ability to see.

Dean swallowed. “We can’t protect him,” he murmured.

Sam shifted uncomfortably. He walked slowly into the room and sat opposite Dean. Dean didn’t take his eyes off Cas.

This was a Cas that Dean could dump all his love on.

“I’ve been an idiot,” Dean said. “Thinking we could do this.”

“No,” Sam said, shaking his head. “You’re not an idiot.”

Dean looked up at Sam. “Today was bad Sam. He--he took Cas right from under my nose. I can’t even protect him from people, how the hell--this world sucks. It does. Monsters around every corner--most of ‘em human. If he hadn’t tossed Cas--” Dean shuddered.

Sam watched. He licked his lips.

“We could drop him off at Jody’s,” Sam suggested softly. “Until we can find the witch, get him cured.”

Dean snorted. He shook his head. “You heard Rowena. There’s no cure. No way to undo this. He’s stuck like this, Sam. Forever. The universe hates him. ‘Congratulations!’,” Dean mocked. “‘You risk your life to save the world, here’s your reward!’ Turned into a helpless baby.” Dean’s shoulders slumped.

“I miss him,” Dean said.

“I do too,” Sam said. He swallowed. Cas was his best friend, too. None of Sam’s friendships lasted long; Cas was a constant in his life now. The air was tense. Sam swore he could feel it throbbing like a heartbeat.

“Maybe--maybe this is good for him,” Dean said, turning his eyes back to Cas, voice cracking. “Maybe he can have a life. I’m not good for him. I can’t--and with our lives--with monsters and demons and primordial evils--we can’t raise him. Can’t keep him safe, not really. We can’t keep him underground forever, locked away in a prison.”

Something was going to break. Sam could feel it in the air.

“What do you want to do?” he asked cautiously.

Dean broke out in breathless sobs.

.  
.  
.

The sun still hadn’t risen. Night covered them. Sam drove and parked in front of the fire station and he looked at Dean through the rearview mirror. Dean still had Cas in his arms.

“We don’t have to do this,” Sam said, throat swelling.

“We do,” Dean said softly. “I gotta do what’s best for him. He can be happy this way.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t matter,” Dean said. His throat was raw from crying. Sam didn’t know what to say. Of course Dean mattered. But the words were lost to him. Dean got out of the car. Sam followed.

Dean stared at the entrance for a long time. He sniffed.

Cas stirred in Dean’s arms. “De,” he murmured. Dean’s breath hitched.

“Sam,” he said, voice full of emotion, of all the words he’d never said. And Sam understood it this time.

“I know,” he said. “We don’t have to do this.”

“If you love something, set it free, right?” Dean’s eyes took in the scope of the fire station. He shuddered and licked his lips. “Just--just give us a minute, okay?” Sam didn’t have a chance to say anything. Dean shoved the car seat into Sam’s arms and walked off. The car seat was full of blankets and the little platypus doll.

He couldn’t hear Dean. Dean was whispering something into Cas’s ear, holding him close and tight, lips brushing against Cas’s ear.

Sam turned away. Even if he couldn’t hear Dean, he still felt like an intruder. This wasn’t for him to witness. This was just between Dean and Cas and not even the universe was invited.

Sam turned and tried to swallow down his own tears that were burning at his eyes. He needed to be strong for Dean. He’d seen the rabbit hole of despair Dean fell down when Lucifer took Cas out on a joyride--Sam knew this was going to be worse.

This was going to be so much worse because this was Dean separating from Cas. Even if it was the best thing for Cas, that didn’t make it hurt any less. In fact, it probably made it hurt worse. Sam thought about all the opportunities that were before Cas now; a family, friends, a normal life with normal people problems, like school and little league, maybe divorce and moving. But those were problems of the apple pie life, and couldn’t hold a candle to the dangers Sam and Dean faced on an everyday basis; the dangers Cas faced just because he was associated with them. This was good for Cas. This was the best thing they could do for Cas, as friends, as family. Sam shuddered. He tried not to think of it as abandoning Cas. They weren’t. They weren’t. They were--

Sam wasn’t sure what they were doing. He wasn’t sure how they’d get past this. It wasn’t fair. Cas gave up so much, fought so hard, stood by their sides for years; he fought the denizens of heaven and hell and every monster in between. He survived Lucifer--and Sam knew better than anyone what Lucifer was; his capabilities, the way he knew exactly what made people tick and how to use it against them, how to drive people insane. Cas survived all that--and now his time was up, all because he got screwed over by a witch?

Sam hated their lives. He hated everything about their lives. All the people that got fucked over and sideways, all the people they had lost: Cas was just another name to add to a never ending list. Another person they failed.

He looked at the sky and cursed God. Wondered, why them? Why was it always them and the people they loved? Why was it always their family that had to suffer?

Then, Dean yelled.

Sam spun around on his heels, and immediately froze in place. Cas was glowing. A soft, yellow light enveloped every inch of him and reached outward.

“Sam,” Dean said, voice laced with panic.

The yellow light got bigger and bigger--

Dean fell on his back, covered by a full-sized, naked and unconscious Castiel.

.  
.  
.

It took a few moments to rouse Castiel. Sam passed off his jacket and Dean wrapped Cas up, a poor attempt to spare him some modesty, but also, it was fairly cold out still.

“What happened?” Sam said, both relieved and confused.

“Hell if I know,” Dean said, excited, supporting Cas in a sitting position. “I was just talking.”

“Well, what did you say?”

Dean chewed on his lip. Cas started groaning.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Sam said, wincing.

“Dean?” Cas mumbled, clutching his head.

“Hey, buddy,” Dean said. “Where ya been?”

Cas stared at Dean in aggravated confusion. Sam couldn’t help but snort.

“C’mon,” Dean said, pulling at Cas’s arm. “Can you stand?” Sam worked with Dean to hoist Cas up. Cas stumbled at first, falling into Dean’s chest, but Dean steadied him. Sam realized he still had the baby seat.

“Let’s go home,” Dean said. His eyes were clear, as though he hadn’t just been crying his eyes out of his skull just a few minutes earlier.

.  
.  
.

Sam found himself behind the wheel once more. Dean and Cas sat in the back, the babyseat forgotten in the footwell in front of them, though Cas had picked up the platypus doll and kept turning it over and over in his hands.

“What do you remember?” Dean asked, never once taking his hand off Cas, running them up and down Cas’s arms as he checked for injuries.

“Everything, I think,” Cas mumbled, and god, it was good to hear his voice again. “It’s very muddled.” Cas touched the side of his head. “Images, mostly, but--but it’s hard to contextualize them.” He frowned.

Dean patted his shoulder and kept his hands on Cas’s shoulders, tense. He exhaled. “It’s okay,” Dean said, adjusting Sam’s jacket over Cas’s shoulder. “Don’t hurt yourself. It’s fine. Everybody’s fine, right?”

Cas flexed his fingers. “I think so?” There was a hitch in his voice. “Tired mostly.”

Dean snorted. “You’re tired? Dude, you’ve done nothing but sleep for weeks.” He grinned in good nature, the met Sam’s eye in the rearview mirror, sternly, knowingly. “Get us home, Sammy,” Dean said.

Sam cleared his throat. “Roger that,” he said.

.  
.  
.

Dean led Cas down the stairs. Sam resisted saying anything snarky; anything about how Cas could walk down the stairs himself, anything about how Dean didn’t need to hover. Dean still kept his hand on Cas’s shoulder, and Cas was a little bit wobbly. It must’ve been weird for his body to adjust to walking again so suddenly.

Sam still had a lot of questions. What the hell happened? No way the spell just undid itself. No fucking way. That wasn’t how magic worked. Sam was going to need to have a long talk with Rowena. Alone. He wondered if they still had that witch catcher laying around somewhere. No way that thing just vanished. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. They’d been seconds away from abandoning Cas, walking away forever. It would have been what was best for Cas, but that didn’t make it ache any less. Sam’s heart was still pounding against his ribs, blood still hot in his veins, flooded with anxiety, remorse. Seconds away from turning their backs on Cas forever--and suddenly the spell they’d spent the last two months working on to fix, diving into the very depths of their research and the internet, just fixed itself?

Something wasn’t adding up. Rowena said there was no way to undo the spell. She was the greatest witch in the world--she knew her shit. And she had lied to them. Sam clenched his teeth together so hard his jaw ached.

“I’m gonna get him dressed and take him to bed,” Dean said, already steering Cas down that direction before Sam could respond. Cas still clutched his head with one hand, the little platypus doll with the other. He muttered something, but Sam couldn’t hear it. Dean did, though, and he whispered back in Cas’s ear, things Sam couldn’t hear, until they vanished down the hallway.

Sam rubbed his eyes He was exhausted. It was only now nearing six in the morning and he hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep in weeks. But the anxiety and anger tickled his skin. His adrenaline was still pounding heavy in his heart. He couldn’t have slept even if he tried. He needed answers. He needed them now.

He sat down at the table in the library and opened up his laptop. He turned on Skype.

It rang for almost a minute before Rowena’s face popped up on the screen, weary-looking and flushed in annoyance.

“Do you think this just happens naturally?” she said, gesturing to her face. Her eye makeup was badly smudged, and her hair was in disarray. “I need my beauty sleep, Samuel.”

“Well, I need answers,” Sam snapped.

Rowena stared quizzically for a moment, then smiled, chuckling. She leaned forward, face resting on her palm. Her nail polish was impeccable. “Answers to what, dear?”

“The spell,” Sam spat. “It undid itself.”

Rowena frowned in exaggeration. “Oh no! The wee angel’s not a baby anymore? What a damn shame, that is. He was so adorable! I’d’ve made a spell to keep him a baby if I were you.” She chuckled. “You still haven’t got it figured out, do ya? The spell didn’t do undo itself, silly.”

“You said only the witch that cast it could undo it.”

Rowena shook her head and scoffed. “That’s not what I said at all. Samuel, seriously, you might want to add ear cleaning to your morning beauty routine. It’ll only take a minute! I said the spell had a lock.”

Sam’s eyebrow twitched. “Stop being obtuse! Did you know what the cure was?”

Rowena shrugged. “Of course. Knew from the moment I saw I laid eyes on the little bugger. Just didn’t think your twat of a brother would do it.”

“Do what? Why did you lie to us? Cas--Cas has been in serious danger this entire time! We almost lost him!”

“Not my fault you’re both bad parents. Guess the apple doesn’t fall from the tree.” She popped her lips. “Besides, if I’d told you, it wouldn’t have worked. Not really. It had to be from the heart.”

“Please, Rowena,” Sam sighed, and rubbed his face with his hands. “What happened?”

Rowena grinned maliciously. “It was a love spell,” she said.

Sam stared at her.

“Not your usual love spell, true,” she continued, “This was a tad more creative than your run of the mill Whole Foods type, but a love spell all the same. The cure was a confession.”

“A confession?”

Rowena nodded slowly, like Sam was an idiot. Which he might be.

“It had to be a genuine confession, straight from the heart. If I told you boys what the cure was, well then, it wouldn’t have been truly genuine. Knowing the answer would’ve muddied the answer. He had to do it on his own, unprompted. Never did think Dean would ever in a million years confess it though. Even with my little push.”

Sam swallowed. He thought back to Dean walking away, for his moment alone, and wondering what Dean was whispering into Cas’s ear. Then, his brain caught up to his ears.

“Your push?”

Rowena laughed and rolled her eyes. “Who’d you think set that witch on you boys in the first place? Told her exactly how to get your attention and you fell straight for it. Then when that didn’t work. . . Tell me, how was your little trip to the park?”

“You orchestrated this?” Sam screamed, then winced only after, remembering Cas was not feeling well and trying to sleep.

“Somebody had to give Dean a push,” Rowena said nonchalantly. She even shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve only know the boy about two years and I can’t stand to see the way he drools after Castiel like a lovesick puppy. It’s disgusting, really. I think I’ve gotten cavities from watching they way they lob their love eyes at one another, thinking that no one’s watching. So yes, Samuel, I may have called in a favor with a young witch I helped out once or twice. It’s so hard to get your foot in the door these days--really, it’s not what you know, but who you know. I gave her the spell and decided to see how things played out. I even tried to help Dean out some more, giving him the trail back to Stacy. Stupid girl. More power than she ever could’ve imagined at the tip of her fingers, and she’s gotta go throw it all away because someone can’t hold their liquor.” Rowena glared at Sam. “Don’t worry about Stacy. She doesn’t matter anymore and is long gone. Setting you after her didn’t work, so I made her disappear. I thought if I gave Dean a bit of hope and ripped it out from under him, he’d work faster. Of course, that didn’t work either. We were exhausting options. Boris was the very last resort. Fear’s an astounding thing--brings out all sorts of nasty things. Things we want to leave covered up.”

Sam swallowed, the pieces finally clicking together.

“Either way, I knew I was going to win. Best case, I thought, Dean confesses his love and I’ve done a good deed getting two souls together. Worst case, I figured I’d get another baby. Dean’s right. Really did do a bang up job with Fergus. Wanted to give it another try.” She sighed. “All’s well that ends well, hmm?”

“You’re a bitch.” Sam snapped his teeth together.

Rowena winked. “Takes one to know one, don’t it? Goodbye, Samuel.”

The screen went black. Sam stared at it for several long moments then growled in frustration. He couldn’t believe this! Rowena set them up. She set them up and strung them along, endangered Cas, toyed with their emotions. Sam had the urge to load a gun with witch killing bullets and hunt her down, make her eat the altered lead, but not until he made her feel the pain she inflicted on them, all the worry, the doubt, the danger.

Sam closed his laptop and shoved it away, gnawing on his lip until he tasted blood.

He noticed the blinking red light of the baby monitor.

Through the grainy footage, he saw a freshly dressed Castiel sitting in the rocking chair, with Dean beside him. Sam still wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to seeing Cas out of the suit and tie. Jeans and Dean’s old band t-shirts made him look like an entirely different person. In those clothes, it was hard to remember he’d been an angel once, for longer than the Earth had been turning. He looked like one of them. What he might’ve been like had he been born human, in another life, another universe.

Their set up didn’t look too comfortable--two full grown men, stuffed in a single chair; it had to be a tight squeeze, but they somehow made it work with Cas turned towards Dean, one hand on Dean’s chest, his head resting on Dean’s shoulder. Dean had his feet propped up on the bed and slowly rocked the chair, his eyes closed and head thrown back. Cas still had the little platypus doll clutched in his other hand.

Sam sighed. He turned the baby monitor off. He stood up and carried it to the kitchen where he dumped it in the trash. He buried it to the bottom, covering it with all the compost and waste already inside. He didn’t want to see it. He wanted it gone, gone, gone. Somethings were not meant for his eyes and this was one of them.

They were actually, really, totally in love.

He should congratulate them. Show his support. Maybe bake a cake. Would that be weird? Sam gnawed on his lip, unsure of what he was supposed to do for them now. How things were supposed to go from here. Dean was his brother and Cas was his best friend, and Sam was happy for them. He was. It wasn’t bad. Not at all. Just different. Not what Sam had been expecting. Not at all.

Rowena said she’d been watching them pine over one another for years. It got Sam thinking about all the other years; the other people; human, demon, angel. Lots of them had said things about Dean and Cas. Alluded to it. He never thought of it as anything more than just a callous jab. Lots of people thought they were a lot funnier than they actually were, and Sam always brushed those remarks off without a thought. Just another demon saying another stupid thing, trying to distract them from completing the mission. But that wasn’t the case, was it? They weren’t trying to be funny. They were being cruel. Because their little jabs, little needles stuck under fingernails, wiggling, wiggling--they’d been trying to get a reaction. They saw it too. This thing between Dean and Cas, heavy, thick, indescribable. Ethereal. A witch had made the cure for her spell Dean’s love confession. All these strangers saw it.

Sam wondered how he had missed it all this time. He thought he was observant, thought he knew everything about Dean; they’d lived in each other’s pockets for so long, breathed the same air, been inseparable at more than one point. Sam would’ve sworn he knew everything about Dean. There was nothing that could surprise him. Nothing could make him do a double take. But this had.

But now that he thought it over, he realized it made total sense. Hindsight was twenty-twenty, and so many of Dean’s behaviors about Cas, around Cas, didn’t make sense unless the obvious was taken into account. Sam had never seen Dean with anyone the way Dean was with Cas. Now, he couldn’t imagine Dean without Cas.

They were good for each other.

Sam was happy for them. It was good for them to have good things. If they were each other’s good thing, well. . .

Sam wished them the best. He was glad for them; he wanted to see them happy.

The bunker seemed intensely quiet now; no longer did Cas’s quiet little cries fill the halls and echo throughout the entire space.

Sam decided to take a nap.

EPILOGUE

Cas still smelled like the baby shampoo. The rocking chair creaked under their combined weight, but it soon became rhythmic, hypnotic. Cas’s breath was warm on Dean’s neck, his hair tickling Dean’s chin.

“Thank you,” Cas murmured, his voice vibrating against Dean’s skin, “for taking care of me.”

Dean swallowed. “Of course. What’d you think I’d do?”

Cas shrugged. “I imagine it was . . . awkward.”

“You needed me,” Dean said matter of factly. “It wasn’t awkward.”

Cas’s hand stretched across Dean’s chest. Dean savored the warmth. He put his free hand over Cas’s and squeezed gently.

“Should we tell Sam?” Cas asked, yawning.

“Tell him what?”

“About us.”

Dean chuckled. “Pretty sure he knows.”

“You’re sure?”

Dean shrugged. “Well, if he hasn’t figured it out by now, he will soon.” Dean turned to face Cas. His Cas.

“I missed you,” Dean said.

“I’m here now.”

“You better not be going anywhere.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Cas’s lips were dry and cracked, but Dean relished them. Relished Cas. After thinking for so long that his Cas was gone, Dean was afraid of even blinking; afraid that when he opened his eyes again, he’d be waking from a dream.

“I can’t believe we waited this long to do this,” Dean said.

“We weren’t ready.”

“Maybe.” Dean leaned in to kiss Cas again. He decided he could get used to this. He wanted more of this. More of Cas. Now that he had it, Dean wasn’t going to let go of it so easily. “Can’t believe it took like ten million diaper changes for us to get here, though.”

Cas scoffed. “Lucky for me, I had a great caretaker.”

Dean’s face flushed, all the way to the tips of his ears. He cleared his throat and readjusted in the rocking chair.

“This is nice,” Cas said.

And it was.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to drop by and say hi on [My Tumblr](https://castielsdisciple.tumblr.com)!


End file.
